


While I Breathe, I Hope

by solarsunfire



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: AU Katekyo Hitman Reborn!, Adult Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), BAMF Gokudera Hayato, BAMF Sawada Tsunayoshi, BAMF Yamamoto Takeshi, CEDEF - Freeform, F/M, Flame Harmonization (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), M/M, Other, Sawada Iemitsu Bashing, Slow Build, United Vongola, Varia (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!) Shenanigans, Vongola Decimo Sawada Tsunayoshi, flame theory, iemitsu is an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarsunfire/pseuds/solarsunfire
Summary: When Takeshi is twenty, his life changes forever. It’s when he learns that his father, really isn’t who he thought he was and Takeshi, after having lived a completely unremarkable life up until that point, somehow finds himself caught up in the middle of a mafia war. Becoming the focus of a supernatural enemy in the process is just an added, but interesting, complication.
Relationships: Colonnello/Lal Mirch, Gokudera Hayato/Yamamoto Takeshi, Reborn/Sawada Tsunayoshi/Enma Kozato
Comments: 19
Kudos: 34





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [k_lynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_lynn/gifts).



> Hi All, 
> 
> I’ve just recently returned to the KHR fandom after a few years away and this is the first thing I’ve written in quite a while, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have so far in creating it! A big shout out goes to my amazing friend/editor k_lynn for agreeing to read through these chapters as I write them to make sure I’m not producing complete drivel. 
> 
> A note regarding the timeline of this story: This follows roughly the main arcs of the original series, sans the TYL arc which doesn’t come to pass in the same manner, as you’ll see. Keep in mind that events have not progressed exactly as they might have, however, due to the fact Yamamoto was not present for a lot of what Tsuna and company experienced because of the differences in their ages. Yamamoto is twenty in this story, with Tsuna and the majority of the family are older than him (except for Lambo and the other children). So, for example, where Yamamoto is Twenty, Tsuna is Twenty-Five.

When Takeshi is five, he starts to see changes in his mother that he doesn’t quite understand. Their weekly outings to the nearby park start to reduce, until she rarely leaves the house. She still plays with him though, still helps him with puzzles and painting like she always has. It’s easy to think everything is normal when she still reads to him nightly before bed, still tucks him in and kisses him goodnight with the same soft, sweet words she has always said as he drifts off to sleep.

_“Goodnight my little sparrow.”_

Spring gives way to Summer, and Summer to Fall. Takeshi notices that his mother’s beautiful, dark hair that usually flows down her back is suddenly gone one day and replaced by a pretty silk scarf that hides the now smooth surface of her scalp. He doesn’t understand why and tells her as much. All she does is give him that same sweet smile she always seems to wear and gently strokes back his bangs as he peers up at her in confusion.

_“It’ll grow back, don’t worry Takeshi. Saa, I was clumsy with the scissors and took too much off, so I had to go all in!”_ The laugh she gives off sounds different to his ears, somehow, and he’s confused by the small tears he can see gathered at the edges of her eyes.

Not wanting her to be sad because of what he thinks was a simple mistake, he smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner and wraps her torso in as much of a hug as he can manage at his limited height. Takeshi is quick to tell her that he thinks she looks pretty like this. He knows something is wrong, though.

By the time Winter has rolled around, he learns she is sick.

It’s cancer, his father tells him, the both of them holding vigil in a stark white hospital waiting room. He doesn’t know what that is, just that it means his mother doesn’t feel good and can’t play with him at the moment because of how weak she has become. His father has stopped laughing, too, as if he were the one that was sick, and even though he doesn’t understand why his father is so sad all the time, it makes Takeshi scared because it is not at all normal.

Just after Takeshi turns six, his mother passes away. The day after her wake, they bury her, and all Takeshi can do is _cry and cry and cry_ because he knows she is gone and won’t be returning this time. It rains that day, and the next day and the day after that, before his father pulls him into a tight hug and tells him that it will be okay. Tsuyoshi reminds him that they still have one another, and his mother wouldn’t want him to be sad.

_“You’ll see her again one day, Takeshi. You need to be strong and live for her now, understand? Keep smiling for her, that would make her happy.”_

The rain that had gone on for days, eases that night and he notices his father looks tired, but relieved as he puts him to bed.

Months bleed into one another and it’s a full year since his mother has died. Takeshi wakes up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, his tiny legs moving carefully down the stairs to avoid making any sounds that might wake his father up. The upper floor of the house is completely dark, but as he moves downstairs and into the kitchen, he notices a faint light pouring out from the vacant building set behind their house from the kitchen window. His curiosity gets the best of him due to the late hour, so he decides to explore.

Takeshi slides the backyard door open and steps out onto the veranda into the warm spring air, his tiny feet quietly taking him towards the errant light he spotted from the kitchen. He stops carefully next to the barely parted door of the building and crouches down on the veranda to lean forward just enough to peer around the edge of the shoji frame.

What he sees, surprises him. His father is alone, among the debris of multiple straw and wooden objects strewn about, cleaved into little bits. The thing that really shocks him is the beautiful, traditional katana sword his father is holding. He’s certain it’s the real deal. Takeshi, if he weren’t trying to hide, would want to see it up close, so very interested to see if it’s as sharp as it looks.

He’s seen this type of weapon before in samurai movies, the old ones in black and white because they don’t have cable and the color channels are grainy and not really fun to watch as a result. He enjoys the movies quite a bit while his father is in the shop downstairs, manning the sushi counter and serving guests, now that his mother isn’t around to play with him like she used to. Sometimes, Takeshi pretends he is one of the samurai, and tries to copy their movements with the shop broom when his father is busy and distracted enough that he can’t tell him to stop fooling around and keep sweeping the shop floor like he’s been asked to.

Takeshi watches, amazed as his father suddenly moves across the wooden floor fast and smooth, surging forward effortlessly like a stream of water. Tsuyoshi slices out in movements too quick for him to follow. His father’s attack ends up sending more of the poor, unsuspecting straw targets sailing to the floor, completely demolished and he gasps in amazement.

The sound he made was soft, barely there, but he watches his father still for a long pause before raising the blade to wipe the edge of the weapon along the sleeve of the traditional gi he is wearing. Tsuyoshi sheaths it promptly in one fluid motion.

_“Go to bed, Takeshi.”_ His father softly orders without turning in his direction and Takeshi’s eyes widen before he scurries to his feet and races back inside, embarrassed at having been caught.

He asks his father about what he was doing the next morning as they’re having breakfast, curious about the sword and the fast, effortless way his father had moved. The embarrassment he had felt the evening before has worn off enough that his enthusiasm is more than keen to replace it, and any hesitation he’d had to ask about the strange event is long gone.

At first Tsuyoshi tries to brush it off, but Takeshi persists and his father, with a little more coffee in his system, explains.

Takeshi learns his father was practicing a special sort of sword style called the Shigure Soen Ryu. His father is a master, apparently, and Takeshi wonders why it isn’t until now that he’s ever seen Tsuyoshi practice. He begs his father to teach him, and he is rebuffed, firmly.

Takeshi is stubborn though, just as stubborn as his father. He continues to ask Tsuyoshi for weeks to learn even a little, until finally, the older man relents just a little.

_“I will not teach you the Shigure Soen Ryu.”_ His father insists, but then shoots him a look that’s less stern and more amused. _“I will, however, teach you basic kata, which are important for building the foundation of any sword style.”_

Takeshi is only briefly dismayed that he will not be learning the same style, but the disappointment is short lived, and he instead devotes himself wholly over to taking anything and everything his father will teach him.

Tsuyoshi expects Takeshi to get bored, to not find the foundational lessons worth his time like most children his age would, but his son surprises him. He doesn’t lose interest, and instead consistently asks if they can train more, even beyond the timeslots Tsuyoshi had tentatively set aside when first starting off on this endeavor with his son.

He was not prepared for it to, but it becomes almost soothing to Tsuyoshi, spending time with his son in this manner. From it, they start to grow closer, much more than they had been when his wife had been alive. In that regard, it is a blessing that he did not expect, but accepts gratefully.

Tsuyoshi starts to realize there is true potential in his son as months go by and Takeshi presses on, already more than proficient in the drills he has assigned him. He is amazed to find he is beginning to feel the faintest stirrings of what he is fairly sure are rain flames, much like his own, starting to develop in Takeshi.

Years go by, and they weather life together on their own like it was never any other way.

Takeshi grows like a weed, features developing so much like his late wife’s that it hurts a little to look at him sometimes, but Tsuyoshi is proud at how strong and morally upright his son has become. He sees a little of himself in Takeshi, too, but does not like to admit it because it is always the things his wife passed onto his son that Tsuyoshi finds more appealing and important, more precious. Takeshi has lost none of his enthusiasm for life, or his gentle, sweet nature despite all that has happened, and Tsuyoshi is grateful for it.

By the time Takeshi is sixteen, Tsuyoshi knows somehow that it is time he teaches his son how to properly adopt and execute the Shigure Soen Ryu style, that he will need it in the near future. It is a foreboding feeling, and the intuition he has not had to use for many, many years is telling him to prepare. He can’t see the future of course, he is not omnipotent, and so all he can do is prepare Takeshi as best as he can. Takeshi as expected, takes to it effortlessly, and after Tsuyoshi has presented the current eight stances of Shigure Soen Ryu to his son, it is left up to Takeshi to practice and perfect each technique to the best of his ability if he is to be found worthy of inheriting their family’s mantle, to make it his own.

Takeshi gives his all to it, just as much as he does his beloved baseball practice after school, and he does his best to meet his father’s expectations. He knows there must be a very good reason he has finally been allowed to learn the previously forbidden techniques, and so Takeshi takes the injuries and muscle strains that come from his constant practicing without complaint even as his father chastises him for pushing himself too hard. All he can do is apologize with good natured smiles and laughs, but he doesn’t ease up. He’s come too far and can’t stand losing, so it’s only natural his stubbornness wins out.

It’s when Takeshi is twenty, that his life changes forever. It’s when he learns that his father, really isn’t who he thought he was and Takeshi, after having lived a completely unremarkable life up until that point, somehow finds himself caught up in the middle of a mafia war.

He is pushed out of his home in the middle of the night, into the alleyway behind their house with quiet and quick haste. Through the dark haze of the night, he can see his father’s gaze burning with urgency and he is frightened by faint shadow of fear reflected in the older man’s eyes.

_“Takeshi—never let your guard down, not until you are there. Follow the directions I’ve left you and you’ll make it. Now run, and don’t stop until you’re at the station! Go!”_

Takeshi stumbles away and makes it a few strides before he trips in his haste. He is quick to scramble to his feet, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he hears a loud crash and then an explosion behind him that rocks the ground beneath him a little. As much as he wants to turn right back around and rush to help his father, he doesn’t dare do so as he runs away with all his might, his father’s words urging him on. He’s certain the loud cacophony that is slowly dimming the farther away he runs, has come from their home and he idly wonders if it’ll even still be standing when he returns. Takeshi reflexively clutches at the bag over his shoulder and the precious item his father had shoved towards him in their last seconds together, to his chest. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t fail at this, he thinks to himself as he quickens his strides, lungs working hard to power his movements.

The phrase his father had hammered him with for years during training echoes comfortingly on a loop in his mind as he flees into the darkness of the city, and Takeshi clings to the optimism of it like a lifeline.

_“Remember—a fight is never truly over until you are dead, Takeshi. Until that point, you can win. Fight always with the intent to succeed, no matter your previous mistakes. If you fall down seven times, stand up eight.”_

Takeshi idly hoped that despite the clearly desperate situation he had just found himself in, he wouldn’t be getting knocked down too much, before this all was over.

He’d later realize he couldn’t have been more wrong.


	2. The Death of Wei Lao

Tsuyoshi felt a little off kilter for some reason and had all day, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. He was grateful that Takeshi had baseball practice after school today and wasn’t home yet, because he knew his son would’ve picked up on it and become unnecessarily concerned as a result.

Takeshi was good like that. He worried about all the precious people in his sphere. His boy was a natural caretaker in the same way his late wife had been, though perhaps with a bit more steel in his disposition when conditions called for it.

Tsuyoshi would be the last person to take his son’s focus away from the things he was supposed to be giving his all to at the moment, however, and he had no intention of letting Takeshi notice his unease. The boy had an important championship game coming up and that took precedence above everything else.

Instead of continuing to focus on his troubled thoughts, Tsuyoshi let himself be distracted by the familiar motions of preparing the haul of fish that had been delivered earlier that morning. The dinner rush wasn’t that far off, and it left him with just enough time to get everything done before they opened for the evening.

Bustling about behind the sushi counter at the front of the restaurant, Tsuyoshi was in the process of prepping a very nice piece of tuna when his senses suddenly spiked in warning.

Someone very strong was nearby.

He felt the flame energy that was hardly insignificant draw closer still, apparently not intent to continue down the street like he’d hoped it would. Calculating how much time he had, his gaze flicked to the front door and he subtly adjusted his grip on the very sharp sushi knife he held before he quickly returned to what he was doing, feigning nonchalance.

The door slid open in a smooth, fluid motion and Tsuyoshi plastered on a welcoming face as he called out a cheerful greeting, pretending to be focused on his work. “I’m sorry, but we’re not open yet. Dinner starts at five,” he told his guest, falling back into the role of the harmless, simple chef that he’d made himself become years ago.

It was a heartbeat longer before he dared to glance up and take measure of his guest who he noted had not moved. He froze immediately at who he saw standing in the doorway, before his lips pursed a little and he straightened up, his gaze turning cautious.

“Ah hello, Tsuyoshi, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The playful greeting was about as fake as the cool smile that was directed his way, and Tsuyoshi resisted the urge to glare back at the man, well aware his guest was trying to goad him.

“Well don’t just stand there,” he muttered to his visitor after a heartbeat of staring the other man down. “Come in and close the door.” Tsuyoshi ordered, though he made no move on his end to release the knife currently in his grasp. He wasn’t stupid, he didn’t trust the man before him in the slightest.

The other moved to obey with a chuckle, and Tsuyoshi studied the intruder openly in the brief opportunity he was given. Standing there, his silver hair still clean cut and framed around his annoyingly calm face was Kawahira of all people, looking not a day over thirty. Tsuyoshi had suspected for a while that the stranger was older than he appeared, so the fact Kawahira didn’t look at all different from when he’d last seen him nearly twenty-four years ago on a rather hair-raising mission, almost verifiably proved it. Mist users were slippery like that.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tsuyoshi queried, now that their privacy was a little more assured. He could feel Kawahira’s flames licking at the walls, coating them in some sort of illusion and he knew that what they were about to talk about would be staying between just the two of them.

Kawahira was an exceptional illusionist, he’d give him that.

“Can’t I visit an old friend while I’m in the neighborhood?” Kawahira innocently asked, looking the epitome of bemused as he tapered slowly over to the sushi bar where he slid back one of the chairs and gracefully seated himself without invitation. Eyeing the fish Tsuyoshi had been in the process of preparing, he smiled, an almost disappointed expression on his face as his gaze came to rest of the knife the swordsman still held.

“It really is too bad you decided to work with fish, instead of ramen. I still don’t even understand why you left the business in the first place; you were so much better at it than this.”

“I didn’t know you had any friends in Namimori,” Tsuyoshi flatly retorted, completely ignoring the barb at his adopted profession, because he knew Kawahira well enough to know when he was trying to toy with him.

Kawahira almost pouted, before that annoyingly calm, perfect smile returned and his gaze was suddenly assessing Tsuyoshi with cutting intensity. “Why I’m hurt. I thought we parted on better terms than that, Tsuyoshi. Really, it’s been so long, I thought it was about time we caught up.”

“What do you want, Kawahira?” Tsuyoshi repeated calmly.

“I want a lot of things, Tsuyoshi. Too much, I’ve been accused of. But for the purposes of today, I suppose it is best to get to it. Time is of the essence after all.” He reached into his sleeve and Tsuyoshi’s muscles coiled in preparation, uncertain of what to expect. When the man retrieved what looked to be a simple, folded sheaf of paper, he paused, eyebrows shooting up towards the white bandana covering his forehead.

“This,” Kawahira explained as he reached over to lightly deposit it onto the top of the curved, refrigerated sushi case for Tsuyoshi to inspect, “is a piece of correspondence that came to my attention two days ago. An informant of mine retrieved it from an associate of yours, Wei Lao. Since it was addressed to you, I thought it best to pass it on.”

Tsuyoshi reached out for the letter slowly, his dark gaze not missing the brown specks that stained the lower right corner of the partially unfolded letter. Tsuyoshi had seen enough of it in his life time to recognize it immediately for what it was. He turned the letter around to stare at the back of it, where his name was written in Wei’s familiar hand and he saw more of the same tiny specks dotted across the otherwise pristine white surface. _High velocity splatter_ , his mind told him, and his gaze lifted off of the stained paper to look up at Kawahira, expression cold.

“What did you do to him, Kawahira?” He murmured, hand shifting higher up the handle of his blade. At the inappropriate laugh that slid from Kawahira’s throat in response, Tsuyoshi’s pulse jolted fiercely in rage and he glared sharply at the mist user in warning.

“Oh, it wasn’t me, Tsuoyshi, or my informant.” Kawahira smiled, looking more bemused in that moment than he had any right to. If it wasn’t necessary for Kawahira to keep talking, Tsuyoshi would have been tempted to jump the counter and put the knife in his hand to good use.

“Wei Lao is dead, of course,” Kawahira continued, “but I wasn’t the one to order it. You see, I was actually interested in some things he’d gotten himself tied up in before his death, which is why I had my informant tailing him at the time he was attacked.”

The silver haired illusionist waved his hand lightly in dismissal of Tsuyoshi’s unspoken demand to stop playing around, lips still curved in a hollow smile. “Don’t worry, the man who killed Lao is dead, it’s how I was able to get that letter. So, there’s no need to rush off to avenge him, I wouldn’t want you to break the silly oath you made, after all.” 

“You—” Tsuyoshi stopped himself and took a slow, calming breath, and refocused his mind. No, he couldn’t let Kawahira get to him now. “What exactly is it that he got tied up in, and why did you need to let me know of it? Why let me know about any of this?”

“Well,” Kawahira smiled as he pretended to consider the question, his expression a fake charade of kindness. “Because this will impact _that_ man and the family he’s a part of, now. Shall I tell you what Wei Lao stumbled into? I must say it’s brilliant, what they came up with.”

“Kawahira,” Tsuyoshi softly warned the man, eyes coldly narrowing as he caught and held Kawahira’s honey colored stare for a long, pointed moment.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered, the warning clear. Clearing his throat, he pointed to the letter. “There’s been talk for some time of a weapon being developed that is capable of suppressing flame energy. By suppressing, I mean completely. Possibly even permanently.” Kawahira explained, eyes lazily observing Tsuyoshi’s face as he watched the man take in the information.

The implications were tremendous. That kind of ability would make the mafia families and their allies sitting ducks. It went beyond the mafia, too. With the right effort and application, anyone in possession of that kind of weapon could wipe any flame user they found to be a problem from the face of the earth. There’d be no one strong enough left to resist.

“Then Wei found out who’s behind this effort?” Tsuyoshi asked, stomach sinking a little at the alarming information.

Kawahira nodded.

“I had my men looking into it, long before Lao became involved, but he was the one that was able to actually figure out who exactly was to blame. Of course, I suppose it shouldn’t be so surprising to me that they’d find other ways of becoming a thorn in my side in the current timeline, but in this instance I don’t think it’s entirely them to blame—”

Tsuyoshi’s head was hurting, a headache building fast and hard between his eyes and he picked up the knife in his hand to slam it down hard on the cutting board to catch Kawahira’s attention before he got off too far in another one of his damned tangents. “Kawahira!”

Blinking at the interruption, Kawahira sighed in what could pass for exasperation before he gave Tsuyoshi an unruffled smile. “The Gesso Famiglia is behind it. I expect that they will be knocking on your door before long, Tsuyoshi. They know Wei Lao and you were close and they probably suspect you’re aware of what he was up to. The current boss of the Gesso Famiglia is not one to allow loose ends, understand? The only family capable of putting this nonsense to rest is the Vongola, which is where Lao was going to insist you see this information be transmitted to, since you have ties of a sort to them.”

Tsuyoshi knew there was more to it than that, especially when Kawahira could’ve gotten the information there through a variety of other channels on his own. “I left that world behind,” he reminded the illusionist, though he couldn’t hide how disquieted he was by the information, lips pressed together tightly as he mulled over the situation and all the decidedly uncomfortable implications that came along with it.

“Well, then, you should send your son,” Kawahira lightly suggested, gaze sharpening a little as his smile shifted into something close to a smirk. “His training is coming along quite well, from what I’ve heard. And a potential Rain user too, isn’t he? You must be proud.”

Tsuyoshi shot forward, blade slicing out at the man at the implied threat of Kawahira’s words, but the blade met nothing but air as the man’s frame flickered into nothingness.

This was exactly why Tsuyoshi hated mist users, he mused, grinding his teeth at his failure to give Kawahira the good beating he deserved.

Kawahira’s voice echoed through the room in a sharp, hysterical laugh at his efforts, and Tsuyoshi allowed himself a hiss of frustration. “Kawahira, if you so much as touch my boy—”

“I bear no threat to your son, Tsuyoshi.” Kawahira’s voice projected through the room, slowly starting to grow a little bit fainter, as if he were walking away. “But you really can’t stop the tide of fate. He’s a very necessary component, I’m afraid. It almost always ends up this way, don’t worry. Besides, it would be a shame if the talent of the Yamamoto bloodline were to be squandered. You really were very nearly on par with _him_ , so I can’t imagine what your son will be able to accomplish under the right conditions.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Tsuyoshi wondered if Kawahira was done, but then the man’s voice cut through the silence, tone turning serious.

“The Gesso Famiglia is coming, and they are close, Tsuyoshi. They will be here by tonight, I expect.”

The illusionist’s voice was growing even softer now and Tsuyoshi glared at the seat the man had been sitting in, hate filling his chest hot and fast. He was always playing these games, talking about people as if they were nothing more than mere pawns and Tsuyoshi loathed it.

“Think of it this way,” Kawahira’s voice lightened with false cheer as his flames started to slowly fade away from the walls, very nearly gone now. “The safest place for him to be is with the Vongola, at this stage. You stand a chance against the Gesso, but your boy? I don’t think so. At least, not yet. I’ve said my part so now it’s up to you to do what you will. However, don’t think this is something you can shield him from, Tsuyoshi. The time for that has passed.”

It took Tsuyoshi a moment to gather his thoughts in the new stillness that had settled over the room, Kawahira certainly gone now. After a few heartbeats, he threw down the knife he’d been holding and abandoned his work in favor of washing his hands. He had no time to really do anything but what Kawahira had suggested.

He was partially inclined to take off with Takeshi, to try and get as far away as they could with the time they had left, but he knew it wasn’t the strategic thing to do. To ensure the chances of Takeshi surviving and the information making it to Italy, it would be safest to have Takeshi go on ahead while he stayed behind to draw their attention and slow them down as much as he could.

His mind made up, Tsuyoshi grabbed the footstool from the kitchen, along with a screwdriver from the utility closet and quickly moved upstairs to their private residence. Moving into the laundry room, he popped open the footstool and reached up for what looked like a normal air vent set into the wall over the linen closet. Upon removing the four screws holding the metal panel in place, Tsuyoshi tossed the thin sheet of metal carelessly down to the ground, uncaring at this point if someone found the compartment now that the item he’d been storing inside of it was retrieved.

Tsuyoshi dropped the bag he’d pulled from the hide space down on the hallway floor and crouched to undo the zipper and throw back the top flap. He pulled out his passport, but left Takeshi’s in the bag, since he was going to need it if his son was going to have to do any additional traveling beyond tonight without assistance from the Vongola. Pushing aside the wallet which held a good amount of money containing both Euro and Yen, Tsuyoshi ignored the spare clothing, knife and other odds and ends his emergency bag held to pull out the thin burner phone he’d been looking for. He was sure the battery was low, so he plugged the device into the hallway outlet before powering it up.

It took a few seconds for it to come online completely before he clicked the only number in the phone and sat back against the hallway wall to wait while it rang. Italy was a few hours ahead, so it wouldn’t be too late, which was good. Hopefully they had enough of a head start they could get on this fast and the Vongola would be able to get Takeshi out of the country and to safety with minimal fuss.

“Chaos,” a deep voice greeted him on the other end of the phone, and Tsuyoshi’s eyes slid shut at the familiar greeting, one he hadn’t ever really expected to hear again, much less in such a mature tenor. He’d heard that the Vongola boy had been able to break that damned curse Reborn had carried around for so long and Tsuyoshi was glad, even if he didn’t really understand just how it’d been managed.

“Hello Reborn, it’s Tsuyoshi. I…have a favor to ask, if you can manage it.”

“Ho? It must be serious, for you to call me after so long. It’s good to hear from you, regardless.” Reborn on his end of the phone stared down at the Vongola manor’s rose garden, currently enjoying the peaceful sight from one of the outer hallway windows of the large estate. Of course, like anything here, the peace was short lived. Reborn watched with hawk like eyes as Lambo ran into the garden in an attempt to flee from what appeared to be a very angry looking Gokudera.

Reborn watched with narrowed eyes as Lambo failed to shake the irate Storm guardian and of course, what followed was a rousing cacophony of yells and explosions that echoed all the way up to his vantage point. The thing that inevitably made his lips flatten in displeasure was when he started to spot sections of the rose garden begin to fly up into the air in large chunks of shrubbery and sod. Those idiots…some of those roses had been planted by _Primo_.

He was going to kill them both.

“It is,” Tsuyoshi admitted, and even as Reborn watched the drama unfold below him on the Vongola grounds, he was listening with rapt attention. It wasn’t any day that his old student called him requesting help, and he knew the situation had to be bordering on dire for it to have happened.

“I’d try and catch up, but I don’t really have much time, so it’ll have to wait for later. I have a document that I think you will find helpful, Reborn. I don’t want to say too much over the phone, the details are a little complicated, but the Vongola’s safety is at stake.”

Tsuyoshi paused on his end of the line as he sighed, and Reborn’s sharp gaze quickly shifted away from the destruction taking place outside, the man’s cautiousness in combination with that statement making him decidedly concerned.

“Safety?” He repeated, low and questioning, hoping Tsuyoshi would expand on that a bit.

“Everyone’s safety,” Tsuyoshi amended, because it was incorrect to make it sound as if only the Vongola were in danger. “Listen Reborn, I’m expecting company tonight regarding that information and I’m going to have to get my kid out of the house. I’m going to entrust the information with him, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t trust anyone else to look after him. I…I have to stay behind, to give him a chance to get away and if I don’t make it—”

Reborn cut him off before Tsuyoshi could finish his sentence. “Don’t be an idiot. You’ll rendezvous with us later.” The statement booked no room for argument and Reborn had to bite back a sigh. His students were so troublesome, sometimes. It sounded like he might be getting another one, too, if Tsuyoshi’s kid had the same potential as his father.

“I’ll look after your kid, Tsuyoshi. What’s one more misfit for me to whip into shape, hm?”

“He’s a good boy, Reborn,” Tsuyoshi smiled a little at what Reborn was trying to do. How strange, to hear that familiar tone of reprimand once again. It made him feel twenty-five again, like the student he’d once been, and for a brief moment, he took comfort from the familiarity of that feeling. “I’ve taught him what I could, but I don’t know if he’s ready for everything that’s about to happen.”

“Leave that to me,” Reborn mused, turning away from the window to begin the walk to Tsuna’s office. He’d pull Tsuna into the loop and at the same time, have him book a private flight for Yamamoto’s son with a little help from their CEDEF contacts in Japan. He wasn’t too concerned, because they could always pull the family jet out of their private hanger in Tokyo and have it there in an hour, tops to get the kid out of the country.

“Keep your phone on and I’ll forward the itinerary with directions. Where are you located, currently?” Reborn instructed before he paused, mind turning towards the older man’s safety. “When you escape and are able to evade them, the safe houses I showed you during your training are still active and stocked in Japan. When you can get to one and contact me, we will extract you next.”

“Thank you, Reborn.” Tsuyoshi murmured, more grateful than he could adequately express. “I’m in a city called Namimori, currently.”

Reborn was silent for a long moment, because the coincidence of that was too much, even for him to not be a little thrown by the information. Not that he would let anyone know, of course. He’d been in Namimori for close to ten years until recently when Tsuna’s family had made the trip to take up their primary residence in Italy, as was expected. So why was this the first he was hearing about this?

“What’s your kid’s name, Tsuyoshi?” Reborn asked instead of the other things he wanted to in that moment, because he didn’t recall Tsuyoshi telling him. There’d be time later to get the information out of Tsuyoshi that he was curious about, and his kid might have some of the answers, too.

“Takeshi,” Tsuyoshi smiled, eyes sliding shut, relief filling him now that he knew his son would be safe in Reborn’s hands. “His name is Takeshi.”

“Then get Takeshi to the airport and let me do the rest,” Reborn ordered. “You know what to do, Tsuyoshi. Fall down seven times—”

“Get up eight,” he smiled, eyes opening to stare at the opposite wall before he slowly rose to his feet, mind coming back into focus as he visualized the path in front of him.

“No good Tsuyoshi.” Reborn chuckled and before Tsuyoshi could retort, the line went dead.

Staring at the phone, Tsuyoshi gave it an exasperated look as if it were Reborn himself he was glowering at before he sighed. Ah well, he mused, a smile taking root back on his mouth before he went to Takeshi’s room to grab a couple things for his son to throw into the duffel bag. Just in case things went bad, he wanted Takeshi to have things to remind him of home. He couldn’t take too much with him, but Tsuyoshi knew his son would need as much support as he could garner if things were about to get as bad as Tsuyoshi expected it might.

He hoped Reborn was right, that he’d make it out alive, but he held no pretenses about his age and the fact he was not nearly as fast or spry as he once had been. The Gesso were out for blood, and if they wanted his, he knew they’d keep after him until they’d seen him taken care of.

As paltry of a comfort it was, he knew now at least that if things went bad, then Reborn would be around to watch Takeshi. The man would be able to keep him safe, certainly more than Tsuyoshi could at the moment, and the thought stung a little.

What a mess he’d gotten them involved in.

He glanced wistfully at the items he’d pulled from Takeshi’s room before gently depositing them into the waiting bag. Standing there, in the hallway with nothing but his thoughts for company, Tsuyoshi sighed and let his eyes close for a long, anguished moment.

“Forgive me, Takeshi.”

This wasn’t what he’d wanted for his son, but he knew there was no way to shield him from the world he’d left behind any longer, just as Kawahira had said. Tsuyoshi only hoped Takeshi wouldn’t resent him for it, that he’d eventually understand why he’d kept it all a secret in the first place.

Tsuyoshi hadn’t wanted Takeshi’s hands to become stained like his.


	3. On The Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not getting this up earlier. It's been a crazy week at work (has been since COVID-19 started, really) and I've been a bit more tired than normal. It might also be the crazy election we're in the middle of here in the US. It's draining guys. SO. UNBELIEVABLY. DRAINING. I need things to go back to pre-2016 sanity levels. Anyway, I promise I'm making good headway on getting the other chapters I've written so far prepped and ready for posting. Enjoy lovelies!

“Hey Pops, I’m home!”

Takeshi all but bounced inside Takezushi, still too excited from the productive training he’d just come from to have enough time to fully curb his energy. In fact, he was about to jump into telling his father just how many home runs he’d managed to nail and how good he was feeling about their chances for the upcoming game, when he was met only with unnatural silence and he faltered in his steps.

He was quick to pause in the doorway when all he found was an empty sushi shop, none of the bustling activity present that was normal for the current hour of the day and his eyes shifted back and forth, finding none of the tables set, or any of the house lights on, other than the one above the main counter where his father should have been.

Takeshi paused and backed up out of the door he’d just walked in through to peer up at the placard he’d rushed past without notice on his way in.

The wooden sign that hung beside the front door to announce the opening of the shop was currently set with the ‘Closed’ side facing outwards and he blinked before quickly checking the watch on his wrist. The numbers 5:13 snapped into life with the sharp movement of his arm and he frowned, confused. His father had never been late in opening, not in all the years they’d had the business.

“Dad?” He called again, stepping back inside, his gut telling him something was off as he slid the door shut behind him this time. Looking over the interior of the restaurant, nothing seemed too out of place, other than the hunk of tuna left untouched on the prep counter. ‘Dad should’ve put that back in the cooler if he wasn’t going to process it immediately,’ he mused, frown returning as his concern mounted. His father was religious about proper food safety, almost fanatical. Especially since it only took one bad customer experience for their reputation to be negatively affected, or so his father regularly insisted.

“Sorry! I’m upstairs, Takeshi! Come up here, would you?” Tsuyoshi called back down, and Takeshi couldn’t help but sigh in relief, though he wondered at the timing. Maybe his dad was sick or something and hadn’t been able to get ready for tonight’s dinner rush as a result? Yeah, that was probably it.

“Coming!” He hollered, already making for the stairs which he sprung up two at a time with his long, jumping gait, too eager to walk up them normally.

He didn’t have to go far to find his father, who was just beyond the stair landing, sitting in the middle of the hallway beside a black bag and what looked like a wooden training sword, similar to the type they kept in the dojo for practice. Takeshi blinked, really not sure of think of the strange scene and slid off his shoes at the landing before stepping up into the main hallway to make a beeline towards his father.

“Dad, are you okay? I was worried when I came in and I saw the shop was still closed.” Takeshi admitted, amber gaze flickering over his father’s body for any sign of illness or injury. He looked okay though, as far as Takeshi could tell.

Tsuyoshi merely smiled back at him, well aware of what his son was doing.

“Come sit with me, my boy.” He lightly tapped the floor beside him and Takeshi, gaze questioning, lowered himself down beside his father.

“I had an unexpected visitor show up today, Takeshi. I’m really not sure how to put this, but you and I—we’re in danger. I don’t have time to really explain it to you, not like I would want to. I’m sorry, because I know you’ll have questions, and it’s my fault it’s come to this.” Tsuyoshi prefaced, taking a deep breath to steel him for what he was about to disclose.

“But what—” Takeshi started only to falter when his father immediately raised a hand to motion him silent. He knew the stern stare Tsuyoshi turned on him, knew what it meant because he’d seen the very same gaze many times before when the older man was utterly serious about Takeshi obeying his commands during kendo practice. Takeshi leaned back and stayed silent, biding his time, though he couldn’t stop the way his brow furrowed in concern and confusion.

“Please, just listen,” Tsuyoshi sighed. “I wasn’t always a sushi chef, Takeshi.”

Tsuyoshi hated that he had to pile this all on his son, to hope that Takeshi’s good nature would allow him to take it in stride. None of it was right, what he was doing, and Tsuyoshi hoped Takeshi wouldn’t resent him for it when he finally had time to absorb everything he was about to tell him.

“If I hadn’t met your mother, I might never have left the life I once lived. I’m not proud of a lot of the things I did before I met her, even though some of it was very necessary.” Tsuyoshi stood up, grabbing the shinai as he rose and took a couple steps back from his son before bringing the bamboo practice sword up in front of him.

“You asked me when you were younger why I didn’t want to teach you Shigure Soen Ryu. It was because the style is bathed in blood, Takeshi. It is a deadly technique, responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. To pass it on to you, meant you could also take a life, and I was reluctant to expose you to such a path.”

Forgetting he was supposed to be staying silent, Takeshi gave his father an utterly confused look. “What does that have anything to do with us being in danger?” He blurted out.

“I was a hitman before I met your mother, Takeshi.” Tsuyoshi swung the shinai out and Takeshi’s eyes widened in surprise when the blade transformed mid swipe, turning into the very same blade he remembered seeing for the first time all those years ago when he had been just six.

“What, _no way_ …” Takeshi’s mouth was hanging open in surprise and Tsuyoshi wasn’t sure what detail he’d just revealed that was exactly the cause for his response and expression.

Tsuyoshi frowned, lowering the deceptive weapon back down to study his son, taking in the way Takeshi watched in wonderment as it reverted back to a simple practice sword. “I’m sending you to stay with an old friend of mine named Reborn. You need to take a letter to him for me. This is very important Takeshi, I can’t express how much. The people coming after you and I don’t want that information to see the light of day.”

“Wait—the shinai is actually a real sword? A-and hold on! Why aren’t you coming with me? We should go together, right? You said they’re after you, too, Dad!” Takeshi pressed, that gut feeling of something like a warning he’d had earlier coming back with a vengeance. “Just because you were, you know, a hitman before, we can still go to the police and—”

“Takeshi,” Tsuyoshi sternly cut off his son, and Takeshi stilled, blinking dumbly at his father who stared right back at him for a long moment before a resigned sigh escaped the elder Yamamoto. “No, we can’t. But you’ll understand why, soon enough.”

He approached his son and crouched back down beside him, curling his one available hand over the back of his son’s neck with a tiny, apologetic smile. “Takeshi, people’s lives depend on that information getting to Reborn. Do you understand? I have to stay behind so that they don’t follow you. If you don’t go, and Reborn doesn’t get that information, people will die as a result.”

At the serious look his father leveled at him, Takeshi swallowed, and his mouth went dry as he stared back unblinkingly for a long moment before his gaze finally fell to the floor. He knew what it meant, his father staying behind. The older man was going to distract them, maybe even fight the people coming for them so he could get away and escape.

“I—I could stay and fight with you, Dad, you’ve taught me everything about Shigure Soen Ryu already and—”

Tsuyoshi gently shook his son with the hold he had on him to get him to stop. “Takeshi,” his voice was gentle and the sound of it drew the teen’s gaze up towards his father’s immediately. “Do this for me, please. Your mother would want you safe as well. I trust you to keep the information safe, since I can’t.” He knew it was unfair of him to use the memory of his late wife like this, to abuse Takeshi’s admirable sense of duty, but it was the only way to see him safe.

Tsuyoshi could hate himself for it later, once his boy was out of harms reach.

“I…” Takeshi looked ready to argue with him more but gratefully, he conceded with a halfhearted nod. “Okay, Dad. I’ll go.”

“That’s my boy,” Tsuyoshi smiled at his son, his hand lowering to lightly clap Takeshi’s shoulder before he retrieved a normal looking fabric sword case Takeshi hadn’t even noticed had been on the floor.

His father wrapped the now disguised sword in the blue cloth before gently handing it off for the boy to take. “Here, I want you to take this with you. This is Shigure Kintoki, the blade my father gave me when I was a little younger than you. It might not look like it right now, but it’s made of some of the strongest steel on earth. It’s an old sort of illusion, one I don’t really know the history of that much, that keeps the real blade hidden like this so all you see is a shinai training sword. The real blade will appear whenever you use the Shigure Soen Ryu, or are preparing to, however.”

“Shouldn’t you keep this, Dad? I mean, if you’re going to fight, wouldn’t this be best for you to have?” Takeshi asked, letting his father pull him to his feet in his dazed state.

He watched wordlessly, a little shell shocked still as his father picked up the black duffel bag and handed it off to him, helping him slide it onto one of his slim shoulders. That done, Tsuyoshi immediately guided him to the stair landing he’d come from a few minutes before.

“I can fight just fine with a normal sword, Takeshi. And now that you know the Shiguren Soen Ryu technique, it’s yours now, that’s how it’s supposed to be since you’re my heir. It’s time for you to make it yours now.” He explained, ushering his boy down to the lower landing of their building.

“Reborn has booked you a flight out of Namimori that’s set to leave at seven, sharp. I can’t afford to leave the shop so you’re going to need to catch the train and get to the airport on your own. There’s a black cellphone in the bag, use it and call Reborn when you arrive at the train station connection to the airport, there should be a car waiting for you. Your chaperone will be a man named Basil. He’ll be able to sneak you into the airport through the private plane entrance with some faked papers, so you can avoid security and the ticket counter. We don’t want your name on any flight rosters.”

“Because they can trace where I’m going?” Takeshi asked, a little amazed with himself that this wasn’t freaking him out more about all of this. “Yes, exa—” His father froze mid word, his gaze snapping over towards the front door and the change in his father’s posture put Takeshi immediately on edge. “Dad?”

“Go,” Tsuyoshi hissed, grabbing his son and dragging him towards the back of the shop, into the kitchen and from there, the backdoor that let out into the alleyway at the back of their residence. He caught the startled, almost scared expression his son wore and forcibly ignored it as he met his boy’s eyes for what he knew might be the last time. He knew this was the only way to see his son safe and carried out of harm’s way, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“Takeshi— never let your guard down, not until you are there. Follow the directions I’ve left you and you’ll make it. Now run, and don’t stop until you’re at the station! Go!”

Tsuyoshi shoved Takeshi out into the back alleyway and closed the door, left with no time to waste, or proper goodbyes. The enemy was almost at the shop, their flame signatures growing closer, perhaps three of them, if he had to guess.

He moved as quickly as he could to the front sushi bar to retrieve the katana he’d kept hidden beneath the counter for moments such as these, though he had hoped he would never need it. Tsuyoshi both heard and felt the loud explosion ricochet through the building as the front door was blasted open and he grasped the blade, unsheathing it in one long, fluid motion. He was quick to cut the cord to the light above him, plunging the restaurant into darkness. If they were fighting on his ground, he was going to take every advantage it afforded him. He knew this place like the back of his hand, didn’t need light to move around inside, and he was hoping that might give him a little bit of an edge. Tsuyoshi already knew that getting out of this unscathed, wasn’t really in the cards for him, however. Not if he was going to do this properly and give Takeshi a chance to get away. He could certainly slow them down, and at the same time, take their attention off of who was now their real target.

“O-ho? That’s not fair, manslayer,” a low, linting laugh echoed ominously through the building before a softer, chiding voice echoed through the darkness. Tsuyoshi crouched to the ground and began moving silently through the darkness to get to a more open area where it would be easiest to engage them. Boxed in as he was, he knew he was at a disadvantage, his movements wouldn’t be as effective and he was making the mental calculations of what it would take to overpower the three of them, or wait—was it two?

“Kikyo, don’t play with your prey.”

“Fair enough,” the voice that was apparently the man, Kikyo’s, agreed.

Tsuyoshi without further hesitation, bounded fluidly up and over the counter, sword sailing out in a wide arc to make for the nearest intruder whose flame signature he could sense to his left.

He didn’t even make it to the ground, didn’t even make it five feet from where he’d launched himself, actually, when an explosion went off right before him, slamming into him and everything went white for a brief moment.

His vision swam as he hit the floor, lungs fighting for air as pain radiated everywhere throughout his body, overwhelming him. What had happened? That hadn’t been a normal weapon attack, just pure flame energy that had hit him.

He shook himself of his thoughts over the strange attack to refocus on the task at hand. He had to get up for Takeshi, to distract them and keep their focus on him, he told himself. His vision was swimming so badly, and he could already taste the blood in his mouth, the coppery tang made only more prominent as he proceeded to cough hard enough it made his sides scream in agony. Broken ribs, he was sure and at least a few, Tsuyoshi absently mused. God, he was a mess.

He wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow he was pushing himself up onto his shaking forearms despite the agony he felt and he heard that voice, belonging to the man named Kikiyo, utter a bemused laugh at his efforts through the haze of dust and darkness of his now destroyed shop.

“Torikabuto, look, he’s still moving. Well I suppose it’s a good thing we didn’t kill him on the first blow. Byakuran-sama might want to add him to the menagerie, come to think of it. See if you can find the letter, we need to know how much that idiot friend of his was aware of.”

Tsuyoshi’s sight flickered a little more and he reached out weakly for his sword that had fallen at his side when he’d hit the ground.

“Go to sleep, old fart. We’ll make ourselves at home.” Kikyo laughed, kicking away the weapon before Tsuyoshi’s fingers could fully grasp the handle.

Tsuyoshi grunted, struggling to lift his head as his attacker came close and crouched down beside him, taking a firm grip on his matted, black hair. “And here I was thinking you were going to be at least somewhat entertaining, ah well.”

“Go to hell,” Tsuyoshi choked out, tipping his head back as much as he could in the other’s hold, using the last of his strength to spit defiantly in the general direction of the man’s face through the darkness.

He knew he’d hit it, too, when the man crouched over him snarled in rage.

“Why you fucking little—”

Tsuyoshi felt the man’s grasp tighten in his hair before his head was slammed down hard against the floor in retaliation, and the last thing he could see before his vision went blissfully black, was the ghostly image of Takeshi’s smiling face, one that he was surely imagining through the haze of pain. With little to no energy left, Tsuyoshi let himself lapse into unconsciousness, let the numbness take over and he didn’t feel anything further.

“Kikyo,” Torikabuto called to his partner who was busy wiping away the remnants of blood and saliva still dotting his cheeks from Tsuyoshi’s fit of defiance. “The manslayer has a kid.” He held out a photo frame for the teal hared man to take a look at, the image of Tsuyoshi and a young man that was decked out in his full baseball uniform, beaming from behind the glass. The resemblance was too uncanny for it to be anyone else but the hitman’s own son. “There’s also a kid’s room upstairs, it looks lived in. Active.”

“Fuck,” Kikyo growled, taking the photo to peer at it through the dim light of the room. “No one told us he had a brat, that idiot Irie…his information was useless here.”

“We should spread out,” Torikabuto suggested, “he’s young, he might still be at school at this hour. I can pull up the address of the nearby high school and junior colleges and we can do a sweep. He’s in baseball it looks like, so we can start with the sports fields.”

Kikyo grimaced, teeth bared in a silent snarl of frustration because he was not about to go back to Byakuran empty handed. “We need to have someone watch the house,” he tersely stated.

“Call Bluebell and have her come watch the old man while you and I go out. Having her as a lookout is useless if we can’t complete the original objective.”

Torikabuto’s masked face dipped forward in understanding before he pulled out his personal communicator to do as Kikyo had ordered, but not before sending a text to Irie to have him dig around for any record of a son. He wasn’t hopeful that Irie would find anything, not on such a short timeline like the one they were working on, but it was worth a shot. He wasn’t about to say Kikyo should’ve done his own footwork, rather than relying solely on Irie, but it was true. Kikyo was too complacent in his position, at times, and it was going to get him in trouble one day.

“Seriously, I have to watch the old man because you couldn’t be bothered to check if he was the only one living here? God you’re an idiot, Kikyo!” The petite, blue haired girl sniffed haughtily in disdain as she crossed the distance from the front door and to their downed victim quickly, nudging the body of Tsuyoshi with her foot with a verifiable scowl.

Kikyo pointedly ignored the shorter female guardian, used to her childish ways, until she went and insulted him. “Oh, shut up,” he glared at her in warning, “deal with it and make sure he doesn’t move. We did the hard part already, Bluebell, so you should be happy all you have to do is sit around and twiddle your thumbs.”

“Tch! Just don’t screw up! You know how bad it’ll be if you mess up on this one again.” Bluebell warned, gaze narrowed at Kikyo to communicate how much she didn’t enjoy his attitude at the moment.

“Don’t worry, he’s just a kid.” Kikyo’s gaze shifted to his other companion, a tiny smirk curling at his mouth and he eyed the masked man before moving to the front door. “Let’s go and find our new quarry and leave this backwater town.”

Torikabuto nodded silently in agreement, before following Kikyo out of the decimated shop. If they didn’t find the manslayers son, it was going to be a problem for all three of them, even if Kikyo was likely to take the brunt of Byakuran’s wrath this time around. Torikabuto felt like they were missing something, it had been remarkably easy to take Tsuoyshi the manslayer into custody, almost too easy, if he really thought about it.

“It doesn’t appear as if the Vongola have become involved,” he murmured as they made their way through the streets, unseen to the passersby they shared the sidewalks with due to the usage of his mist flames. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous to look at in their white, tailored suits, so it was a necessary precaution.

“Why would they?” Kikyo asked, “our intel already stated the manslayer wasn’t really close with the previous Arcobaleno of theirs any longer. It’s been almost thirty years since they fought together, right? The Vongola brat doesn’t even know what’s going on in his old backyard anymore, either. So clearly their information network is lacking.” The smirk that passed over his face was mean and sharp, the type that usually prefaced destruction and pain.

“Besides, becoming involved and taking us on outright would lead to the potential of them starting another war among the mafia families. The Vongola brat is too peace loving to take that risk,” Kikyo went on and Torikabuto paused in his steps, catching Kikyo off guard.

“What? What is it?” He paused and looked back at Torikabuto who’s head was tilted to the side in a way he’d come to understand meant the man had realized something.

Torikabuto straightened up, gaze focused back on Kikyo, but with the mask on, he couldn’t make out the expression his partner was wearing at that moment.

“There are means of circumventing the normal channels of communication, Kikyo, you know this. It’s possible the manslayer and the hitman Reborn have been communicating prior to today.”

He went on, completely unhurried, much to Kikyo’s annoyance.

“The spy Wei Lao had a four day lead on us, and we still aren’t certain when he mailed the manifest he snuck out from our base, to the manslayer. It is conceivable that he let Reborn know of what was going on.” The masked man slowly crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against one of the sidewalk traffic rails in a posture that was far too calm for the current conversation, if what he was saying was correct.

“And…? So what, you’re saying the cat’s already out of the bag because they chatted at some point?” Kikyo gave his partner a look of annoyance. “You know they can’t do anything without hard proof, that’s just hearsay. We’re fine.”

“They can’t do anything without the information, Wei Lao stole from us, yes. So what better way than to have a normal looking teenager ferry that information to the Vongola, directly?” Torikabuto’s voice was clearly radiating his bemusement as he watched Kikyo’s face shift from annoyed to frozen in disbelief.

“They wouldn’t trust an idiot teenager with that type of information.” Kikyo countered, because no, that would have been too simplistic for the Vongola, too dangerous.

Torikabuto shook his head and leaned forward as if not to let what he was about to say be heard by anyone else but Kikyo, though it was pointless with the illusion he was using to shield them from unwanted attention.

“You’re operating under the assumption he’s just a teenager, when considering who his father is, he might be more than that.” Torikabuto pointed out, “I thought it irregular the manslayer went down so easily and now I wonder if he wasn’t trying to draw us into complacency. After all, if we thought we had caught the person of concern, would we be looking for anyone else? He was planning on making himself the sacrificial lamb, so to speak.”

Kikyo stared at the masked man for a long moment as his mind raced through the possibilities, the probability that Torikabuto was correct, and he released a hiss of frustration when he concluded there was a solid chance the other man was right.

“The airport,” he grunted out, and Torikabuto nodded silently in agreement, the both of them turning and moving back in the direction that they’d come. The vehicle they’d arrived in was further down the street from the Yamamoto household and they were going to need it if they wanted to get to the airport quickly. Dodging traffic and speeding there wouldn’t be hard to do with Torikabuto’s illusions, but they’d have to hurry.

“If Byakuran-sama didn’t need idiots like the manslayer for his menagerie, I’d fucking kill him,” Kikyo lowly murmured, and Torikabuto didn’t need to look over to imagine that expression of wrath that was probably on the man’s face, well acquainted with his partner’s moods. If there was one thing Kikyo detested, it was being played.

“You’ll need him even more before all of this is over, if we can’t find the boy,” Torikabuto reminded the other man, and they stepped off of the sidewalk to approach the car, Torikabuto immediately moving for the passenger’s seat because he knew Kikyo would be the one driving.

It started to spit rain as they drove, and Torikabuto wondered if they weren’t already too late. For all they knew the boy had already taken off. His communicator pinged and he looked down at it to find a few pages of information on their quarry attached in an email from Irie.

“The kid’s name is Yamamoto Takeshi. He’s 20, about what we expected,” Torikabuto summarized for Kikyo. “…Irie has no information on his fighting abilities, though. On paper, he looks completely normal. I don’t think he’s ever come up on our radar before now from the look of this.”

Kikyo frowned at how decidedly not helpful that was. “Do you believe that though?”

“I think we should expect him to have some fighting capability.” Torikabuto mused, glancing from the edge of his eyes towards Kikyo, catching the way his partner’s eyes narrowed, though Kikyo stayed uncharacteristically silent for a long moment and it had him wondering if he was finally taking this more seriously like he should have from the beginning. He could guess the threat of what Byakuran would do if he failed again after the Wei Lao incident was beginning to get to him.

“Then we’ll make this quick.” Kikyo decided. “They’ll need private access to get the brat out undetected. Where’s the VIP entrance to the airport?”

Torikabuto taped a few search parameters into his communicator, accessing the construction records of the nearby airport to determine where they’d need to focus their efforts. “…It appears to be at the northwest corner. There’s a private back road that leads to the private hangers, and it seems to be the only way in. We could cut them off there and keep them from the tarmac.”

“Good. Look up the non-commercial flights scheduled to leave today,” Kikyo ordered.

“I already am,” Torikabuto calmly replied, tapping away on his device.

“…There’s only one remaining for today. It’s supposed to take off at seven tonight.”

They both glanced at the car clock, the time reflected there declaring they had approximately half an hour before then, leaving them with little to no time.

Kikyo’s foot on the gas suddenly pressed the peddle all the way flat to the floor. “Hang on,” he warned with a sharp, evil smirk, “we’re going to need to beat the traffic if we want to make our appointment.”

Torikabuto said nothing and instead watched as the rain started to come down a little harder on the windshield and he idly noted that the clouds above them were becoming a tad more dark than before, too.

What was this feeling? Something told Torikabuto this rain wasn’t normal, it put him on edge, and he was quick to brush away the foolish feeling of disquiet. It was merely the current situation they were in, that was all. Neither of them was willing to fail at this, to come back with anything less than absolute success. Byakuran expected nothing but the finest from his men, after all.


	4. Après Moi Le Déluge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! Here's the next chapter. I know Yamamoto's escape from Namimori has taken up the last few chapters, but things from here on out will be shifting to more interesting aspects, I promise. Enjoy!

Yamamoto’s long legs were aching as he settled into the firm pleather cushion of the train seat he’d all but slid into, just seconds before the doors hissed shut with a pleasant chime.

He barely registered the radio system of the car he was in alert the passengers that the train was departing for the municipal airport and he eased back, familiar enough with the trip from the multiple overnight flights he’d taken with his school’s baseball team to attend games in other prefectures to know he’d be at the airport in about fifteen minutes.

Concerned about his progress, he glanced at the watch on his hand and blinked numbly at the faint tremor he could see in his fingers before he clenched his fist tight to fight off the strange tick. Taking a slow, deep breath Yamamoto let his eyes slide shut, just like he would normally do to get his nerves straight before a game and when he felt centered again, refocused his gaze to the bag perched beside him on the empty chair to his left.

Just to have something to do, he pulled out the black phone his father had given him, turning it thoughtfully over in his hands as he considered the directions he’d been given. He should probably call now, since he was just a few minutes away. The man, Basil, would be waiting for him, his father had said.

It was going to be okay, he had to believe that. He knew his father was strong, and Takeshi needed to make sure he took care of the task he’d been given before he let himself worry. There would be more than enough time for that later, once he and the information he’d been given was safe from the people coming after his father.

His focus recovered, he flipped open the older phone and accessed the phone book. It was simple to figure out who he was supposed to call because there was only one number available for him to choose from, which was decidedly weird. The line rang a couple times before a rich, male voice filled his ear in a strange greeting, catching him off guard with the accented words that followed. “Yamamoto, is it?”

“Ah, yes,” he confirmed, shifting in his seat as he discreetly peered around the train to make sure he wasn’t drawing attention, but no one was looking his way, the other passengers too consumed in their own lives and thoughts to care about anything else.

“I was told to call and let you know I was nearly at the station stop for the airport,” he explained, an unspoken question layered in his answer.

“That’s right. Estimated time to arrival?” The accented voice asked, and Yamamoto wondered if this was his father’s friend, Reborn, talking to him. He didn’t want to say the man’s name aloud, he felt like it wasn’t smart when he didn’t know who to trust.

“I’m maybe eight minutes away now, if I had to guess,” he lightly laughed, rubbing his other unoccupied hand over the fabric wrapped shinai sword slung over his shoulder to make sure it was still secure.

“Ah, perfect, you’re right on time then. I’ll let Basil know to expect you shortly. What clothing do you have on right now?” The man asked, causing Yamamoto to blink in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?

“Uhm,” he glanced down at himself and took quick stock of his outfit, “a red vest, black jeans and a white shirt. Why?”

“I need to tell Basil what to look for since we don’t exactly have a picture of you, kid.” The man sounded faintly amused, if Yamamoto strained his ears enough and he huffed a faint laugh in response, unable to help himself. He really should’ve thought about that, but ah well, this was all kind of new to him, to be fair.

“Ah that’s smart!” Yamamoto chuckled.

On his end of the line, Reborn shook his head, amused but pleased to hear the boy laugh because it meant the other wasn’t succumbing to the pressure of the situation. That was going to be important for Yamamoto, that resilience. Especially before everything was said and done.

“Basil has light brown hair, blue eyes, and he has a particular way of speaking Japanese. You can’t miss him.” Reborn glanced over at the open laptop on his desk to check the current status of their private plane which had recently pulled into it’s designated hanger at Namimori’s airport and noted that it was currently fueling up until they could stop at their first layover in Nepal. Good, they were right on schedule.

“…A particular way of speaking Japanese?” Yamamoto repeated Reborn’s words slowly and the older man knew the kid was confused by that. He didn’t bother to explain though, since Yamamoto would be finding out for himself soon enough.

“You’ll see,” Reborn replied. “He’ll find you and come on over. It’s important you two get to the plane we have waiting, it can’t linger too long beyond when it’s supposed to taxi out, so you get one shot to get on it.” The hitman warned. “Yamamoto, you can fight, right?”

“Well, yeah,” he confirmed, thrown by the sudden change in topics a little before he brushed it off. “My old man taught me the same style of swordsmanship he learned.”

“That’s good,” the other man let out a low hum of thought. Reborn had suspected as much, considering Tsuyoshi’s words to him earlier, and he was curious to see how far along his old pupil had gotten in training his son. This could prove to be interesting, having another Yamamoto around again.

“You might need to use it, but I want you and Basil to prioritize getting on that flight over engaging with the enemy. Listen to Basil, Yamamoto. What he says is law, so if he thinks you can make it without fighting, go along with it.” Reborn did not want this become more complicated that it already was, and it was more important that Yamamoto make it onto the flight with the information Tsuyoshi had given him than them smacking around the Gesso fools, as much as they deserved to be taken down a peg.

“Okay,” Yamamoto agreed, the tone of the stranger’s voice booking no argument and he trusted the direction Reborn was giving him since his father wouldn’t have sent him to the other man if he had any lapses in confidence of Reborn’s abilities.

“Re—Ah, sir,” he caught himself just barely from saying the other man’s name aloud in public, and wondered at the strange cough he heard echo in his ears at his address of Reborn, just a tinge of laughter tainting it. “Did Dad…did he say how he was going to get away?”

The humor was completely gone from Reborn’s voice when he answered, leaving calm assuredness.

“We talked about him getting to one of the old safehouses I keep around for moments like this. Once he’s there, he has means of contacting me and we’ll be able to get him out of Japan just like we’re doing with you.”

Yamamoto bit his lower lip as he mulled that over, and he absently nodded even though Reborn couldn’t see the gesture.

“Kid, I’ve known your dad a long time and he’s tough. Don’t focus on what he needs to do right now, just focus on your part. Your dad wouldn’t want you to get hurt because you were distracted.”

Reborn was surprised by the silence that followed, and he wondered what the boy was thinking, if maybe he had underestimated how laid back and accepting the other had seemed to him in the brief time they’d been talking.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Yamamoto finally replied, a few seconds later, tone surprisingly cheerful. “I’ll just focus on what I can do.”

Reborn smirked and leaned back in the leather chair he was perched on with a satisfied expression. He knew he’d been right about this kid. “Good.”

“Ah, I have to go,” Yamamoto heard the train intercom announce their arrival and he immediately rearranged his items, making sure they were secure against his body and in his grasp. “Thanks, er, sir.”

“My name is Reborn, Yamamoto, I appreciate you being so cautious on this line but you’re probably safe to say my name where you are,” he allowed himself a small chuckle. “We’ll go over operational procedures more in depth when you get here so you better understand how to conduct yourself in situations like these. Listen to Basil, he’ll get you here in once piece. I’ll see you soon, Yamamoto.”

“Thanks Reborn, that sounds good. Bye for now.” Yamamoto smiled, and hung up the phone to tuck it back into the right, front pocket of his pants.

He stood up as the light rail car came to a standstill and he slowly shuffled out the door he’d come through a few minutes before, following the few passengers on the train onto the platform outside. Yamamoto was grateful for his unnatural height since it allowed him to look over the crowd of passing people to search out his quarry, and he made for a bench where there was a little less movement to try and find the man Reborn had described to him. He actually saw Basil a second before the foreign man’s eyes fell on him in return.

Basil was of moderate height, slim and slight of frame but still strong looking with long brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Yamamoto thought he was rather attractive looking, and for not being of Japanese descent, he somehow blended into the crowd in a way that Yamamoto couldn’t help but wonder at. If he guessed, the man was a few years older, maybe in his mid to late twenties compared to Yamamoto’s age of twenty.

He chanced a wave, and the brown haired stranger smiled, closing the distance between them to come to a standstill beside the thankfully empty bench. “Yamamoto-dono I presume?”

Yamamoto blinked at the formal address and couldn’t stop the amusement that bubbled up as he suddenly realized what Reborn had meant when he’d said that Basil had a strange way of speaking Japanese. He was using a dialect his great grandparents would have been likely to use, it was that archaic.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he laughed, bowing to the man before he remembered to extend his hand as was more common for Western greetings. Basil surprised him by bowing back with admirable accuracy considering the man hadn’t grown up in their culture and it was always a little strange for foreigners to grasp the finer points of Japanese etiquette.

“I’m Basil, it’s nice to meet you, that it is,” the man grasped his hand and Yamamoto grinned at the firm shake and smile his new acquaintance turned on him. Yeah, he could already tell he was going to like Basil.

“Thanks for coming to pick me up,” he straightened up and at Basil’s gesture for him to join him in walking to the passenger pick up area, fell into step with the older man.

“Thou are taking a large risk for us, it was the least we could do.” Basil brushed off the thanks with a casual smile affixed to his lips, and lightly reached out to grasp Yamamoto’s elbow to guide him towards a sleek, black car that was idling at the edge of the curb. “Here we are,” Basil announced and held open the door to allow Yamamoto to slide in first.

After a moment of them getting settled, the car pulled away from the train station and Yamamoto glanced up at the dark haired, suited man behind the wheel before his attention shifted back to Basil. Were those stripes actually tattoos on his cheeks?

“So...Reborn-san spoke with me a bit, but I’m still not really sure where we’re going.” Yamamoto admitted.

Basil blinked and turned in his seat to better face his new companion, surprise clear in his expression from the frank admission.

“I had expected thou knew, since thy father was an acquaintance of Reborn-san’s.”

Yamamoto shook his head with an apologetic smile, still a little thrown by Basil’s dialect. He didn’t want to say anything though, since it wouldn’t be polite. “Nah, I…Well, I didn’t even know my father used to, you know, be a hitman until today.”

“Oh my.” Basil’s eyes widened, and Yamamoto saw something that could’ve been embarrassment flicker across the older male’s expressive features. “Forgive me, Yamamoto-dono, I did not know that. This must be very strange for you then, that it must.”

“It’s okay!” Yamamoto laughed, hands raising up to flap at the air in a dismissive manner. “I’m good at rolling with the punches and I mean, I get it, why he didn’t say anything. I just really haven’t had that much time to think about what it all means, you know?”

Basil nodded before giving him a sympathetic smile. “It’s good that you are so understanding, Yamamoto-dono. I never worked directly with your father since he left our world when I was very young, but Reborn-san speaks highly of him, that he does.”

“So you work with Reborn-san, then?” Yamamoto asked, leaning forward a little in interest.

“In a way, yes,” Basil smiled before lifting one finger up at attention to pause that particular train of conversation. “I suppose I should explain things to you, since you haven’t been properly briefed on our world.”

When he had Yamamoto’s complete, rapt attention, he continued.

“I belong to the Vongola, which is and has been for a very long time, the strongest and most recognized of the mafia families within Italy. We are actually headed to Italy.” He tacked on for Yamamoto’s sake, because he’d asked about their eventual destination just moments before. “That is where our headquarters are based, though we do have satellite offices in other places, including Namimori, which is why I was able to pick you up.”

“Why Namimori though?” Yamamoto blinked, a tiny, amused smile tugging at his lips with the question. “I mean, I love my home but it’s not exactly Tokyo. Wouldn’t that be a better place for offices in Japan? There’s probably a ton more resources to draw from there than in Namimori.”

“We also have offices in Tokyo,” Basil chuckled, nodding his head at the observation Yamamoto had made, because it was very true. “Our offices here in Namimori were ordered by the current boss, Sawada Tsunayoshi. Sawada-dono grew up here and wanted to keep an eye on the area, so to speak, especially since his mother still retains residence in the city.”

“Huh, that’s a crazy coincidence. I wonder if I ever bumped into him,” Yamamoto grinned, before his head cocked to the side curiously, amber eyes flickering over Basil’s face as if looking for something in particular. “Did my dad work for the Vongola?”

Also, it was kind of odd for an Italian mafia boss to be Japanese, but in the grand scheme of things, it was the least odd piece of information he’d come across all day so Yamamoto gamely brushed it off for the moment.

“Well, Sawada-dono left Namimori only six years ago, so it is possible you may have met.” Basil considered the likelihood of that for a moment before he shook his head in a negative at the question Yamamoto had fielded him with.

“And no, Yamamoto-dono. To my knowledge your father was like Reborn-san, an independently contracted hitman. Reborn-san would probably be better informed on your father’s history, I’m afraid.”

Yamamoto smiled back at Basil, even though he was disappointed he didn’t have the answers he was seeking. “Ah, it’s alright, I was just curious. Being in the mafia…is it really dangerous?”

“Well,” Basil blinked in surprise at the blunt question as he tried to gather his thoughts, “yes, it can be. Though our boss has made it a point to avoid conflicts with the other families since he took charge of the Vongola. Of course, there are occasional disputes, but the boss has begun to try and change the way things have been done for so long. Sawada-dono does not like violence, that he does not. The other families don’t agree with the way he is doing things, and it causes problems at times, but we are making progress every day. If anyone can make a difference, it’s Sawada-dono, he’s…truly special.”

A tiny smile was curling at Basil’s mouth, soft and fond and Yamamoto had the feeling the cause was the very man they were speaking of. From what he was hearing and seeing, it sounded as if the boss of the Vongola, Sawada Tsunayoshi was able to instill great loyalty in his men. Yamamoto was curious to meet him, to put a face to the person Basil was describing and understand just what made him so special to receive such praise. He hoped the man would maybe be able to help him and his father out of this mess they’d found themselves in, too.

“Change it how?” Yamamoto asked, trying in vain to put together the puzzle pieces of this strange world Basil spoke of. The only knowledge he had of the mafia was from movies and shows, but he had the sneaking suspicion they were a pale imitation of the actual thing.

Basil’s head tipped to the side in consideration as he thought about Yamamoto’s question and it took him a couple moments to properly formulate what he wanted to. “He wants to cut away the violence of it all, the greed and self serving nature that the Vongola adopted over the years from when it was first founded. I really can’t word it as eloquently as Sawada-dono, he does a much better job of it than I.”

To him, even as an outsider looking in, that sounded like a pretty extraordinary goal considering the general reputation the mafia had. Yamamoto understood a little better what Basil meant when he said the Vongola boss was special. Who was he to say it was an impossible goal? “Go big or go home, right?” Yamamoto grinned with a light laugh, “I think I like him already.”

That drew a smile to Basil’s face, amusement reflected on the slender, brown haired man’s features as he studied Yamamoto from his seat.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well, Yamamoto-dono,” he observed, his blue gaze turning a little more probing, but not without concern.

The taller Japanese teen rolled his shoulders at the remark and ignored the other’s scrutiny in favor of smiling back at Basil, instead. “Don’t really have any other option but to, right? I mean, it’s weird, don’t get me wrong. I have a lot of questions and it’s definitely crazy what’s going on.” He laughed a little on reflex and leaned back in his seat a bit more, gaze thoughtfully tracking up to stare at the upholstered ceiling of the black town car as his thoughts rolled about in his brain restlessly. “But, well, there’s no use crying or getting upset over something that’s already happened, is how I look at it. All I can do is go forward, right? Dad told me how important it is that I do this, and I know he’ll explain everything to me when I see him again.”

“Not everyone would be so understanding as thou, Yamamoto-dono,” Basil shook his head, a little amazed by the younger man’s unfailing optimism and emotional elasticity, considering the situation he was in.

The car they were in came to a sudden, screeching, drawn out halt and Basil’s arm was already reflexively shooting across to brace against Yamamoto’s larger, heavier frame to stop his charge from tipping forward even though the seatbelts they had on were more than secure and did their job.

“What the—did we crash?” Yamamoto’s eyes had widened a little in shock and watched Basil’s line of sight shoot to the front of the car where, through the fortified windshield, they both spied a car turned sideways, blocking the road in front of them. Yamamoto glanced out his own backseat window and realized they were, or had been, driving alongside the airport. He’d been so caught up in his discussion with Basil earlier that he had failed to notice they were almost there. His dad had mentioned they were sneaking him in, so Yamamoto guessed the road they were on was supposed to take them to a secret entrance to the tarmac.

He remembered Reborn’s orders to avoid fighting as much as possible and listen to Basil, at all costs. Flickering from the window, his eyes tracked back towards his new companion. “Is it them, the people after us?”

“Yes,” Basil slowly agreed, pulling out what almost looked like a boomerang, which Yamamoto really wasn’t sure what to make of and he cleared his throat nervously, glancing back at the front windshield where the car in front of them was idling, one lone, strangely masked man stepping out. This was bad, Yamamoto could already tell.

“Basil, I can take us back the other way we came,” their driver, who Yamamoto hadn’t heard speak until that moment, glanced back at them from the rear view mirror, the unspoken question there and Basil was quiet for a small moment. “We don’t have time for that. The plane will take off without us. Ram the fence, the armored structure of the car can take the abuse,” he ordered, gaze flickering to Yamamoto. “We’ll have just a few minutes before airport security is on us, so no matter what happens, you must get on the plane, Yamamoto-dono. I am hoping the added security will slow the Gesso men down, but these are dangerous individuals. No matter what you see or hear, you must get on the plane.”

“Basil-san, you’re not really planning to go up against them alone—” Yamamoto started, because he could tell exactly what he meant by that and he was tired of having other people step in to protect him while he ran.

“Lancia and I can get away from them after you’ve taken off,” Basil reassured Yamamoto with a tense smile as the car revved and the driver suddenly accelerated, veering to the left of the car in front of them to make straight for the adjoining chain link fence that lined the airport. “Yamamoto-dono, you must listen to me. Please.”

Outside, Torikabuto’s hands shot up quickly when he realized what they were planning, the illusionist drew his mist flames to immediately create the reality of the Vongola vehicle’s tires puncturing, sending it skidding across the tarmac of the airport as the traction was suddenly lost. The car’s driver gamely regained control, but the speed of the car’s movements was delayed somewhat by the new friction weighing it down, sparks flying across the pavement as the exposed wheel wells made contact with the concrete and asphalt below.

Kikyo was quick to follow them through the destroyed line of fencing, speeding past Torikabuto in their own car. Left behind, literally in the dust, Torikabuto let out an annoyed grunt, a wave of irritation following before he calmed. If Kikyo wanted to rush things, it was on his head as team leader when it all came crashing down. He’d let his anger get the best of him, and left Torikabuto behind in the process, without any regard for the fact he might actually still need his services. Kikyo had always been arrogant, though, self assured in his abilities, and Torikabuto was not at all about to save the other man from himself.

Yamamoto and Basil both turned in their seats to stare through the back window as they heard the revving thrum of their enemy’s car make greater and greater gains towards them. “Are we going to make it?” Yamamoto asked, because he really wasn’t so sure in that moment. Whatever their pursuers had done to the car had made it a lot less smooth and a bit slower as a result, even though their driver was absolutely pushing their vehicle to it’s limits.

“Yes, barely.” Basil reasoned, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Get ready, Yamamoto-dono. Lancia,” he called to the driver, “pull close to the hanger by about twenty feet with Yamamoto’s door facing the plane. We’re going to give him cover while he gets on.”

“You got it,” the man, who Yamamoto had barely gotten any real glimpses of beyond his tattooed cheeks, glanced back at them briefly before refocusing his attention ahead.

Yamamoto understood even before Basil’s attention fell back on him, just what he was expected to do and he flicked his seatbelt to the side quickly, muscles coiling in anticipation for what was about to happen. 

“No matter what you hear, run for the plane and get on it and tell them to take off immediately, okay?” Basil instructed, blue gaze locking with Yamamoto’s.

Everything stilled in the second Yamamoto nodded to Basil and suddenly their center of gravity was upset again when Lancia pulled a hard right and the car slid towards the hanger with Yamamoto’s door, as directed, the closest one to the plane that was partially exposed, a set of landing stairs already extended. “Be safe, Basil-san,” Yamamoto muttered to the other man, and then he was moving on instinct, hand curling around the door handle to throw it open as he leaped out of the still moving car only to somehow land on his feet. He didn’t hesitate a second and was already off running with the same speed he’d always depended on in baseball, amber gaze affixed solely to the open door and not back towards the sounds of gunfire and strange wooshing and clanging he could hear as he bounded up the stairs in two long jumps, and almost ran straight into a light haired, darkly tanned man wearing a dark suit and orange dress shirt standing just beyond the doorway. “We need to go, now,” he panted out. “Basil said go.”

The stranger was quickly pushing past him and had the door he’d just come in on shut and locked before quickly turning towards the captain’s cabin. “Take off is a go on our end, Collonello.”

Yamamoto couldn’t see who was inside as he slumped against the bulkhead to catch his breath, hesitant to sit down just yet when he could hear the fight still going on outside.

“Tch, it’s not even seven yet. The flight tower is going to freak, kora!” The deep, accented voice sounded pissed to Yamamoto, and a little harried but before he knew it, the plane was already moving, taxiing out rather quickly before he could prepare. For a moment he flapped his arms about for support and eventually grabbed on to the polished, wooden bulkhead above him to keep himself from toppling over. Huh, wasn’t that fancy? He blinked at the unexpected feature before his amber gaze refocused and he moved to one of the passenger windows to duck down and peer out back at the car he’d fled from. Basil was ducked behind the black vehicle, talking into a phone while Lancia put down suppressive fire, pinning the Gesso member temporarily down beside his own car. Basil and Lancia’s car looked worse for wear, and Yamamoto didn’t think they’d be able to get away in it with the state it was in.

“They’ll be fine,” the suited man he’d nearly run into told him from behind, and Yamamoto straightened up, blinking in surprise as he turned to get a better look at him. He noticed his hands were wrapped strangely in bandages that covered his knuckles, and he was tall, wiry with a compact build that Yamamoto instinctively knew was that of a fighter’s. “I’m Sasagawa Ryohei by the way,” the man gave him a tiny, but serious smile before his steely gray eyes flickered back to the window where Basil and Lancia were already disappearing from view.

“I’m **extremely** pissed they interfered this far, but Basil and Lancia can handle them. They won’t risk having the rest of the CEDEF forces being pulled down on them, either.”

Again, Yamamoto had no idea just what Ryohei was referring to, but he’d guess it was some kind of fighting force with the context of the conversation they were having. “Ah, I’m Yamamoto Takeshi, it’s nice to meet you,” he suddenly remembered his manners, though really at the moment it felt a bit funny to be exchanging pleasantries between them considering everything going on.

“Basil said the Gesso guys were strong, and they look like they’re having a tough time,” Yamamoto noted, unable to help but feel concerned. It wasn’t as if he’d known Basil long, but he could tell he was a nice guy though, a good person. If he got hurt protecting him, Yamamoto would definitely feel bad.

“Basil and Lancia are made of tough stuff and can hold them back until reinforcements arrive.” Ryohei reassured, gesturing Yamamoto to take the seat he was hovering next to while he settled into the one directly across from him on the other side of the aisle. “Once you’re gone from here, the Gesso won’t stick around and risk it tangling with us any more than they have to.” Ryohei reasoned, gray gaze studying the younger man in front of him.

“How old are you, anyway, Yamamoto?” he asked abruptly, buckling himself in

“Uh,” Yamamoto blinked again, completely caught off guard as he lowered himself down into his own seat, setting the back down in the chair beside him, along with Shigure Kintoki. “Twenty?”

Ryohei’s expression turned amused. “Reborn-san said you were a kid, you’re not that young.”

“What exactly did Reborn-san tell you?” Yamamoto asked, because that seemed like a useful thing to know, what people were expecting of him. 

“You have some intel we need, said you were the kid of an old associate of his and would need help getting to Italy in case the Gesso actually did come knocking. Not much, but that’s Reborn-san for you.” Ryohei shrugged his shoulders with a small, distant smile. Yamamoto noticed it when the other man’s eyes locked on to the fabric covered form of his sword, clearly studying it with interest. Yamamoto didn’t say anything though, because he was pretty sure Ryohei knew what it was.

“It’s going to be a long flight,” Ryohei continued, gaze pulling away as he pulled a file from the chair beside him to pop it open. “We’ll be stopping over half-way in Nepal to gas up again before continuing to Italy.” The man warned, running a bandaged hand through his hair as he started to review the contents of the items he held in his lap.

“How many hours is it to Italy?” Yamamoto asked, because he really had no clue. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that he’d have all that time to collect his thoughts. Until he could speak to Reborn himself and see if he’d heard anything from his father, Yamamoto didn’t know how much rest he’d actually be getting.

“Ah, from here…about fourteen with the layovers,” Ryohei’s smile turned apologetic, attention moving back up to Yamamoto. “Sorry, it’s not exactly fast. Even with our resources, technology only gets us so far. Try sleeping, if you can. It’ll make it go a little faster.”

Yamamoto nodded, absently as he buckled himself in, beginning to feel the plane speeding up.

“We’re about to take off, kora!” Their captain, Collonello if Yamamoto remembered correctly, called out to them. “Sit tight until we reach altitude, I’ll let you know when you can move around again.”

Yamamoto took a deep breath and closed his eyes when he felt the distinctive sensation of being pulled upward with gravity, away from the ground below as the wheels slid away from the concrete tarmac and they started their ascent from the mayhem below.


	5. An Unexpected Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! 
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this. Life has been busy, especially with the Holidays wrapping up and all. Enjoy!!

“Yamamoto, oi, wake up now.” Ryohei’s voice registered in his ears and he sleepily blinked open his eyes, staring up at the older man in a disoriented fashion for a long moment while his mind processed where and who he was with. Ryohei’s hand was still laid over his nearest shoulder to the aisle, warm but firm in it’s insistence in case he tried to doze off again.

Yamamoto wasn’t sure when he’d passed out, he was pretty surprised he had at all considering just how hyped up he had been, but perhaps all the physical and emotional exhaustion he’d been pushing down had just caught up with him. His eyes tracked over his surroundings and he noticed that it looked like the plane was starting to descend.

“Are we already there?” He glanced at his watch and realized only six hours had passed, so that couldn’t be. Ryohei had said it would be at least fourteen hours to Italy, so they were halfway there at most.

“No,” Ryohei confirmed, arm easing back into his own space in the seat he occupied across from Yamamoto. He cocked a tiny smile at the groggy younger man, bemused by the cute blinking Yamamoto continued to employ as a means of waking himself up.

Ryohei found it hard in that moment to believe the kid was really related to an associate of Reborn’s.

“We’re just about to land in Nepal. We’ll have about forty minutes to kill while Colonello sees to getting the plane fueled back up so I was going to tell you that you should take advantage and stretch your legs while you can. The town we’re landing in is pretty remote and filled with our support staff, so it’s as safe a place as any, don’t worry.”

Yamamoto nodded at that, muffling a wide yawn behind one of his hands. Getting up and moving around really did sound good to him. He never liked sitting around for too long, he always got restless that way, and it’d be nice to see a little bit of Nepal on their layover.

Ryohei looked satisfied by Yamamoto’s agreement and glanced out the window to monitor their descent. “It’d be faster if we didn’t need to stop here, but our deathperation flame converter is broken. Otherwise we wouldn’t have needed to stop for fuel, but that’s just something our mechanics will have to figure out when we land in Florence. It’s just a good thing Tsuna insisted we keep an alternative, standard fuel system in place on our jets. But maybe he knew this was bound to happen.”

Yamamoto stared at Ryohei blearily, and wondered if there was anything he was missing that would better help him to understand the strange technical language the man had used to describe what he assumed to be a part of the fuel system.

It definitely wasn’t any sort of slang he’d heard before in shop class when he’d been learning about combustion type engine systems at the start of his junior year, that much he was sure about.

Ryohei had completely lost him with his odd language, again, Yamamoto realized with some dismay.

“Deathperation-what?” Yamamoto decided to just ask, rather than taking himself in useless mental circles trying to figure out what Ryohei was speaking of.

The tanned man shot him a startled look and then leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave as he studied him, almost warily. “Yamamoto…you know about flame theory, right?”

Not really sure what Ryohei meant by that, Yamamoto gave the man a confused look, brow furrowing as his lips downturned into a thoughtful pout. “Uh…like, how fires are fueled?”

“You don’t know.” Ryohei sat up, the expression of disbelief clear to see in his face. “How do you not know?”

Yamamoto blinked, and cocked his head at Ryohei curiously, suddenly feeling as if there was something pretty big he was missing, to garner a reaction like that.

“Uh…I don’t know?” He lamely answered, cocking a nervous, apologetic smile at the older man.

One of Ryohei’s bandaged hands swung up to press itself flat against his face, muffling the low, guttural groan that followed.

“Okay, listen, I’m not the best person to explain this to you then,” Ryohei lowered his hand, a woebegone expression firmly cemented on his features as he sighed in dismay. “Reborn shoulda warned me that you weren’t exactly primed and prepped for the ring.”

Yamamoto could hear the clear, grumbling complaint in Ryohei’s words and he leaned forward, honestly curious now about what he was missing. “What do you mean?”

Ryohei gave him a patient glance before holding out his hand that had curled itself lightly into a fist. “I’m going to give you a brief explanation, but it really is going to be better for you to have Reborn or someone else explain this to you, I’m not really good with technical details.”

The older man was quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, before he continued.

“See, kid, every being on earth has something called a flame affinity. You’re born with it—and I’ve even heard it’s an inherited sort of thing, you know? It’s kind of…” Ryohei’s eyes squinted together as he searched about for something Yamamoto would be able to better understand in layman’s terms. “It’s kinda similar to how Qi is described, yeah? There are seven different types of common flames: Sky, Sun, Rain, Lightening, Cloud, Mist and Storm.”

Yamamoto’s furrowed brow eased a little with that and he nodded, taking the comparison in stride. That made sense, he understood the premise of Qi, that it was a material life force inherent to every living being.

“Most people go their whole lives without really realizing it’s there, so don’t feel bad you didn’t know about this,” Ryohei amended, “I can’t tell you what type of flame you have, but I’m guessing Reborn will help you with that if you’re staying with us for a while. I’m a Sun type,” he smiled and the lone, metal ring Ryohei had on his raised fist suddenly lit up as a tiny, flickering flame danced over the surface of the ring’s sun crest.

“Woah!” Yamamoto’s eyes widened at the display, and Ryohei couldn’t help but laugh a little at Yamamoto’s amazed expression. 

“This is nothing, kid. Your flames can be called out like this, when you have good enough control,” Ryohei explained, still chuckling at the eager, almost childlike amazement Yamamoto had shown with his small display of flame control. “They’re primarily used in defense, but some flames, like mine, also have healing applications. Every flame has special properties that imbue it with certain capabilities, if that makes sense. Sun flames have a trait called activation that when used for healing, encourages the reproduction and healing of cells to be rapidly increased at rates beyond what would be normal.”

“Huh,” Yamamoto stared at Ryohei’s flames before daring to reach out with a single finger extended. Ryohei realized what he was about to do a split second after Yamamoto started to reach out, and made no move to stop him since there wasn’t any harm that Yamamoto could come to from exercising his curiosity in this instance.

Yamamto tentatively swiped his digit through the orange flames as quickly as possible, only to blink in surprise at the disconnect in sensations he felt. “They don’t burn,” he noted with a light laugh, and stared at Ryohei’s flames with even more amazement, repeating the motion at a slower pace. He’d been surprised to find them warm, but not at all the scalding, uncomfortable heat that was associated with normal flames. There was something comforting about them, it felt familiar, almost.

“Don’t be fooled, Yamamoto,” Ryohei shook his head, amusement still present in his eyes even as his tone turned serious. “Flames can be deadly when applied in the proper way. My flames as they are here, are harmless, but that’s not normally the case when someone draws out their flame energy. If you see someone’s flames, you best be ready to respond and defend yourself.”

“Did you always know you had flames?” Yamamoto asked, gaze flickering up from the warm glow above Ryohei’s fist to meet the older man’s grey eyes. “You said a lot of people normally don’t know that they have them.”

“I didn’t either,” Ryohei shook his head, “most of us, didn’t. Well, except for Mukuro and Gokudera, and I guess Lambo, if we were being technical. This type of knowledge is pretty well known in the mafia. Since they all came from that world, I’m guessing they knew, unlike the rest of us.” He hummed and crossed his arms over his chest, killing his flames in the same motion as he nodded to himself, clearly confident in his guess. 

“Us?” Yamamoto’s mind registered the various names, but they didn’t mean anything to him since he had no idea who exactly Ryohei was talking about.

The older man stared silently at Yamamoto, their gazes locked for a long moment before Ryohei leaned back in his seat with a loud laugh.

“Ahh…you extremely don’t know anything!” Ryohei exclaimed, but he was smiling as he said as much, so Yamamoto didn’t take it personally and even smiled back sheepishly. “Sorry, kid. I keep forgetting this is all new for you. I mean the rest of Sawada’s guardians. There are eight of us—but you’ll meet everyone once we make it to Italy. It’s our job to protect and support him, though he’ll be the first to tell you we’re all his friends before we’re his guardians.”

“Basil-san told me a little bit about him, your boss. He sounds nice.” Yamamoto mused, smile having shifted from sheepish to earnest. Though Ryohei had warned him he wasn’t really the person to talk to about all of this, Ryohei’s little lesson had left him with more questions than answers, but he knew it was just one more thing he was going to add to his list of things to ask about when he reached Italy.

“Sawada is a good guy,” Ryohei grinned in agreement, “he’s the most reliable person in existence. But he didn’t know he had flames either, at one point, you know? Didn’t stop him from growing extremely strong! We’ve all grown a lot, from when we first became a family.”

Yamamoto studied Ryohei closely as he spoke, and noticed that the man’s eyes had become a little distant and out of focus, like he was staring at something in front of him, other than the empty seats of the opposite row.

“…Sasagawa-san?” Yamamoto murmured after a few moments of the man’s strange silence, when Ryohei failed to say anything else. “What are you thinking about?”

Ryohei smiled at Yamamoto apologetically as he started a little, having been jarred from his reverie at the sound of Yamamoto’s voice. “Ah, my bad, Yamamoto,” he apologized, “just got lost in my thoughts about the past. And you don’t need to call me Sasagawa-san, Yamamoto. Ryohei is fine, I’m not that much older than you.”

“How about senpai then?” Yamamoto smiled, “It’s nice of you to offer, but, well, I still feel like I have a lot to learn. You’re sort of like my senpai in that instance, you know?” He laughed a little at his own expense on reflex as his hand smoothed itself over the back of his neck, a nervous tick he hadn’t ever really quite brushed off.

“Unh! You can extremely call me senpai!” Ryohei cheered in a near roar, grinning widely at Yamamoto in apparent glee over the younger man’s decided title for him. “I will extremely help you get adjusted in Italy!”

Yamamoto, even as he laughed in reaction, almost wondered if he shouldn’t be concerned by how determined the gleam in Ryohei’s eyes had become.

“Kora! Keep it back down there,” the voice of their flight captain, Colonello came down over the intercom. “I can hear you two idiots yelling all the way up here and I need to make sure I hear the flight tower’s orders since we’re in our final approach, kora!”

“Maa, maa, we’re sorry!” Yamamoto yelled back towards the cabin in response, hand flapping through the air in a gesture of reassurance even though it couldn’t possibly be seen by Colonello who was turned in the opposite direction, watching their descent from the vantage point of the captain’s chair.

“KORA! I JUST SAID NOT TO YELL!”

Ryohei watched Yamamoto bust into more laughter instead of shrinking back at the rebuke that was blared through the jet’s speaker system, apparently unphased by the unspoken threat of violence that would follow if he didn’t obey Colonello. The kid genuinely did not seem scared, and Ryohei was both a little amazed and impressed, by the fact. He was starting to get a faint idea of why Reborn had expressed interest in seeing this kid get safely to Italy. Underneath the soft, boyish exterior, there seemed to be a bit of steel to his constitution.

“Master Colonello is very strong, so a word of warning, I wouldn’t antagonize him,” Ryohei warned, shaking himself from his thoughts to glance out the window. The ground was growing steadily closer and he glanced over to make sure Yamamoto was still buckled in.

“Ah, it’s not a big deal,” Yamamoto chuckled, “I’ll apologize when we land. Master? Eh, is he your teacher or something?” His amber eyes had widened a little in surprise, the full brunt of their focus turned on Ryohei in curiosity.

“Or something. Though he did tutor me when I was younger,” Ryohei smiled, shaking his head fondly at Yamamoto’s devil-may-care attitude. “But that’s a story for another day, kid. We’re about to land, and I have to handle some things while we refuel, so you’ll be on your own for a bit, sorry.”

Yamamoto smiled, not at all bothered by the fact since he understood enough to guess Ryohei, as a member of Sawada’s family, probably had a lot on his plate. All the questions and concerns he had, could come later. There was nothing he could really do until he got to Italy, so it was better to just go along with things for the moment and let the chips fall where they would.

“It’s okay, senpai. I’ll take the chance to stretch my legs and walk around a little bit while you focus on your things.”

Colonello’s voice crackled over the speakers again, though his words were still clipped in their delivery which wasn’t exactly unusual for the former COMSUBIN member. “Kora! We’re about to touch down, so stay seated until we’re at a full stop.”

“Maa…He really likes giving orders, doesn’t he?” Yamamoto laughed, and earned a small, fond shake of the head from Ryohei who was clearly trying not to smile.

“Well, he used to belong to COMSUBIN, that’s the Commando Raggruppamento Subacquei Ed Incursori Teseo Tesei,” Ryohei explained when he got a confused look from the younger man, because it was better Yamamoto understand the true measure of Colonello’s abilities. “It’s a pretty impressive Italian Special Forces group that possesses a wide variety of military combat experts, so it’s probably a little bit of his time in the service.”

Understanding flickered over Yamamoto’s face as he gave Ryohei an impressed, wide eyed look of amazement. “There’s a lot of crazy strong people in the Vongola, it seems like.”

“You have no idea,” Ryohei laughed, his gray eyes flickering to the window and Yamamoto watched his companion lean back in his seat to brace himself as the plane entered that strange point of weightlessness that always came before a landing. “Ah, here we go.”

Almost perfectly synched up with Ryohei’s words, the plane’s wheels touched down on the tarmac and Yamamoto found himself also leaning back as the tiny airplane’s momentum was slowly suppressed and Colonello brought them to a gradual stop.

Yamamoto peeked outside, but all he could really see was the surrounding beat up tarmac and a few white washed, humble brick and terracotta buildings that were probably the facilities of the tiny airport, if it really could even be called that. The place was certainly smaller than Namimori Regional, where they had just come from. It probably was a good thing though, Yamamoto mused, since they were trying to stay under the radar. His curiosity to go out and explore was already growing when Colonello suddenly popped out from the cockpit and walked down the aisle to stop beside Ryohei’s seat.

Taking the opportunity to finally examine the man they’d been speaking of just minutes before, Yamamoto found him to be rather unassuming upon first glance, though his clothing certainly reflected the military background he now knew the man had come from. He was decked out in a green fatigue like jacket and pants, with a simple white shirt beneath it and what looked to be a rather heavy duty set of boots on his feet. Just like Ryohei and Basil, Colonello was not unattractive and Yamamoto wondered, a little bemused, if all of the Vongola members were similarly endowed in their appearance. 

“Kora, I’m going to start fueling up,” Colonello informed Ryohei, “tell Sawada we’re nearly halfway there when you check in. You know how he gets with these types of missions. You might want to check in with Basil first, too, just to make sure CEDEF took care of our friends.”

Ryohei nodded in agreement, not at all offended by the fact his old teacher still made it his job to remind him of such small things. He’d be the first to admit his memory wasn’t the best, and sometimes he forgot details he really shouldn’t. “I’ll call Basil first, just to be safe. Tsuna may or may not have heard anything yet, and I extremely don’t want to worry him.”

Colonello’s eyes shifted to Yamamoto suddenly and the dark haired man blinked at the new scrutiny, temporarily surprised by the intensity of the man’s blue gaze before he regained his composure and smiled politely at their captain.

“You’re the package we were supposed to pick up, then?”

Colonello’s abrupt comment pulled a laugh from Yamamoto, and his smile grew a little wider in response.

Both Colonello and Ryohei blinked at the unexpected reaction, their eyes tracking Yamamoto’s movements in tandem when the Japanese man bowed towards Colonello as if he hadn’t just been addressed rudely.

“I’m Yamamoto Takeshi, thank you for picking me up on such short notice,” he bowed his upper body politely towards the blond from his position in his seat. “Never been called a package before, though,” he mused with another laugh, straightening back up before he unbuckled himself and stood, immediately stretching his arms over his head with a low groan of relief.

“…Kora, is he serious?” Colonello muttered, eyeing the clearly bundled sword beside the teen with ill hidden curiosity. He’d seen and knew a lot of ill adjusted swordsmen, and wondered for a moment if he wasn’t about to have his words come back around to bite him in the form of an attack.

“Extremely. Yamamoto’s just that nice,” Ryohei breathed out a little sound of amusement, his gray gaze flickering from Colonello and then back to the younger man. “Oi, Yamamoto, you got thirty minutes to wander, but try and head back after that so we can avoid lingering here too long, okay?”

“Yep, you got it senpai!” Yamamoto cheerfully agreed, shooting another blinding smile at the two men who both blinked and watched the tall swordsman languidly stroll down the aisle to the front door that Colonello had already opened upon exiting the pilot’s cabin.

“Senpai?” Colonello repeated, turning back to face Ryohei, expression visibly amused. “That kid is going to fit right in with your gang of crazies.”

“Reborn’s got a bit to teach him, though,” Ryohei agreed, “I think he’s got potential, Master. He’s got a bit of flame pressure pent up inside of him, from what I could feel when he reached out to my flames. It wasn’t quite harmonization, but it felt like his flames were trying to react in a way.”

“What the _hell_ were you doing back here? Flames?” Colonello gave Ryohei an annoyed look, and it was enough that it made even seasoned Ryohei grunt and twitch a little in guilt with the rebuke. “What did I tell you, no open flames on my aircraft, kora! I know the Deathperation Flame Converter isn’t working right now, but that crap is dangerous with the plane’s other systems, too!”

“Ah, I know Master, but—”

Colonello reached out and whapped Ryohei across the back of his head for daring to talk back. “But nothing kora! You’re lucky I don’t leave your ass here,” he grumbled, glowering at Ryohei to drive home the threat in an impressive impersonation of the glares Lal Mirch had practically patented. “Not. On. My. Aircraft. Now call Basil and Sawada while I get us fueled back up.”

Ryohei groaned, his hand flying up to rub gingerly at the back of his head, even as he nodded in understanding. “Okay, Master.”

Colonello grunted before stalking away the same direction Yamamoto had just disappeared in, and Ryohei breathed a little sigh of relief before he fished into his pocket to retrieve his phone so he could check in with Basil and his boss.

xXx

Yamamoto, upon stepping outside of the aircraft, was struck by how chilly the air was. The down lined red vest he had on was useless against the wind as it steadily slithered through his clothing and he almost thought about heading back inside the plane where he knew it would be warm and comfortable. The urge to explore was too great, however, so he gamely ignored the mountain chill and headed instead for the cluster of clearly ancient looking buildings that comprised the small town beyond the airfield.

There was something timeless about the tiny village, Yamamoto mused, as he made his way down the dirt path that cut away from the badly weathered asphalt of the airport. There were no cars visible, and only a few power poles, but all other forms of modern infrastructure seemed missing. The main walkway he was proceeding down towards the town was decorated overhead with carefully hung strings of once colorful prayer flags that had faded a little beneath the constant exposure to the sun and the whipping winds of the mountain range.

This place was special, Yamamoto could tell. There was a gravitational pull to this place, the same kind he’d felt in the old shrine back in Namimori or on the grounds of the old temples in Kyoto that he had visited with his parents when he’d been young.

_‘There is more to this world, Takeshi than we can ever hope to see with our own, limited eyes. Spirits and old magic still exist in special places if you keep your heart open enough to feel it,’_ his father had once told him, when he’d been only perhaps eight. Yamamoto admittedly hadn’t believed it, but as he grew older, there were certain experiences he’d had, sensations he’d felt when near the older cemeteries in town, that made him wonder if there’d been more to his father’s words than he’d first been led to believe.

His feet seemed content to take him where they wished, and Yamamoto, even though he hardly blended in with the natural populace, didn’t receive anything beyond a brief glance from the villagers who passed him in the street. He supposed that since this was a Vongola stop over, they must’ve seen their share of visitors, so perhaps he wasn’t that unusual of a sight and didn’t give the odd occurrence another thought.

The buildings were clearly older in construction, made of humble materials like wood and brick, but sturdily built with thick walls to sustain their occupants against the harsh, Himalayan climate. He paused at a cross road of avenues and his eyes tracked slowly to the right, almost unbidden. He found himself staring down a dark, gloomy street where at the end he could see what looked like a taller, and if possible, even older looking building than the others around him. A few people walked past him, completely ignoring the new avenue he was staring down and something he couldn’t quite explain told him to go in that direction, nudging him forward.

“Speaking of weird feelings…ah well, what can it hurt?” Yamamoto chuckled a little to himself and turned down the shadowed street, the soft din of the busy main avenue ebbing slowly behind him. He felt the breeze pick up, and there was something quiet on the air, a low mournful tune brought to life by what sounded like a flute. The notes reverberated in his chest with every breath he took, and as he drew closer to the building that had caught his eye, he realized there was something not entirely normal about it when the previously empty iron bonfire stands set before the stairs, spontaneously burst alive with blue fire.

He froze immediately, perhaps just five strides away from the wooden stairs of the structure and instinctually took one small step back on reflex, hand going to the hilt of his sword without a moment of hesitation. He only stopped in drawing the weapon when a gentle, calm voice floated out from within the darkened interior of what he was now beginning to recognize was a temple of some sort.

“Do not go, please. You have nothing to fear, that you do not. Shigure Kintoki will not be needed.”

“How do you know that name?” Yamamoto blurted out, fingers tightening on the cloth enclosure of his weapon a little more, prepared to throw aside the tie holding it shut at a moment’s notice. Beyond his father, Yamamoto didn’t know of anyone else aware of Shigure Kintoki and though he knew it was possible that there might be others out there who knew of the ancient weapon, something in his gut was telling him the sword was very much a secret still. With the Gesso pursuing him, it put him on edge, already having had a brush with disaster just a few hours earlier before, when he’d fled Japan.

Was this an ambush? But no, they would’ve already made their move by now if that were the case. He’d seen the assertive way the Gesso had moved on Basil and Lancia, and this was a very different approach. Though it would definitely be smart to separate him from any sort of assistance, like he currently was.

“I know it and much else, Yamamoto Takeshi, because our paths are mirrored, you might say.”

The use of his name made the little air left in his lungs sail out in a gasp, and he glanced back the way he’d come, preparing to run when he found the alleyway no longer there. Instead, there was another brick and wood wall, so much like the others he’d seen in the village, that Yamamoto wondered for a moment if he was even awake, or if he was merely dreaming all of this. He felt something like panic stir low in his belly, completely unbidden and unwanted.

“What—”

“A temporary gate has been placed between this plane of existence and yours, do not worry. Once you and I have spoken, I will open it again and allow you to return to your companions. I know you must reach Italy as soon as possible, that you must.”

Yamamoto’s amber gaze swung back to the wooden, pagoda like structure before him and he hesitated, frozen in place by his indecision.

“Please come, little swallow. I cannot maintain this connection between the planes for long. It would not do well for my actions to draw attention to either of us, that it would not.” The soft plea, punctuated by the nickname his mother had only ever used for him somehow pulled his long legs into taking one step and then another, towards the glowing bonfires.

He didn’t release his old on Shigure Kintoki’s handle, however as he mounted the stairs slowly, eyes tracking back and forth for any sign of unwarranted movement and he hesitated before the darkened archway that led to the inner sanctum of the strange temple.

“You are among friends here, peace,” the voice gently urged, and Yamamoto took a deep breath before crossing over the threshold.

It was like a light had been switched on, and instead of the cold, barren environment of the Himalayan town, he found himself stepping instead into a traditional, stately Japanese home complete with real tatami and beautifully decorated shoji doors that had whimsical, delicate cranes in flight painted on their surfaces. Through one of the parted doors, Yamamoto could even see a beautifully curated garden, complete with water elements and lush, carefully manicured hedges that easily drew his eyes to it’s expanse.

It felt warm, welcoming, and completely against his better judgement, he felt his shoulders relax. He was safe here, he knew, and let his hand fall from his weapon as his amber eyes landed on an equally traditionally dressed man seated on the floor in perfect seiza. The stranger looked straight out of antiquity in the blue robes and scholar’s hat he wore. So dated was the style, Yamamoto couldn’t help but be confused, uncertain if the man was a priest of some sect or merely oddly dressed.

“Where am I?” Yamamoto asked, because he knew this was not really Japan, and as he looked around, he saw the faintest glow over everything, like there was a faint haze in the air. It made it all feel dreamlike, ephemeral, like the lightest touch would cause the scene before him to disappear all together.

“Neither here, nor there. You are in a place in between planes, Yamamoto Takeshi,” his host explained, a gentle, welcoming smile on his face. Yamamoto found it a little unnerving, upon closer observation, of just how similar the man looked like him. It was almost as if they could be brothers.

“This is the home I knew in my time, and it is the easiest place for me to envision and bring into being. I also thought it would be the most familiar for you, and would put you at ease.”

“Your time?” Yamamoto’s gaze flickered back to the man and he slowly moved closer, stopping a few feet away from the stranger, though he was hesitant to join his host on the floor, still a little out of sorts.

The stranger nodded, smile still anchored to his mouth. “I am no longer living, that I am not. The image you see before you is a manifestation of my dying will which is still anchored to your plane. This home is long gone, as is the body you see before you.”

Yamamoto’s eyes widened and he was pretty sure he was staring openly, and probably very rudely, at the would be spirit.

“You’re a ghost?” He quietly whispered, almost afraid to use the word because everything his father had alluded to was apparently very real after all and oh, wow, but this had to be the _craziest_ twenty-four hours he’d experienced in his entire life.

The stranger laughed lightly in bemusement before gently shaking his head. “No, not in the strict sense. Hm…How do I explain this? I am merely a shell of what I was in life, little swallow,” he gestured to the floor in front of him, offering for Yamamoto to take a seat now that the young man seemed to be relaxing in earnest, finally.

“The parts that made up my soul are long gone. My soul has already continued it’s journey on in the wheel of existence. It is merely the impression of my soul, of my desires and will, that are left behind—which you see before you now.”

“Like a picture’s negative?” Yamamoto asked, slowly taking a seat before the other man, but in a less formal position. His jeans would make sitting in seiza incredibly uncomfortable, and he wanted to be able to move quickly, if the need arose. He gently set Shigure Kintoki down on the ground beside himself, but did not completely remove his hand from the prone weapon.

If his host noticed, he was polite enough not to say anything.

“A…” The stranger went still, gaze turning unfocused before understanding alit on the older man’s face and he nodded to Yamamoto, smile returning anew as his eyes lost the glazed tint they’d briefly held. “Yes, just like that. This term was unfamiliar to me, but that is correct, that it is. A person’s dying will can be strong enough that it can enable one’s self to manifest and physically manipulate matter, even after death, though it is exceedingly rare.”

Yamamoto nodded, even if he didn’t fully understand, because he could imagine spirits—if that was the proper term—holding on to something enough that they would leave part of their essence behind in the fashion the other man was describing. There were enough ghost stories out there with similar outcomes that it was somewhat believable, at least.

“Ah, well…how do you know me? We’ve never…met before, right?” Yamamoto asked, after a few seconds of deliberating if he shouldn’t just outright ask his host who the heck he was, and what the false spirit wanted with him, to lure him here like this. He still didn’t know what to make of the fact the man’s spirit knew of his childhood nickname. It suggested the spirit had been watching him for quite some time, which raised multiple questions.

Thankfully the strange being didn’t seem offended by his asking, if the smile that edged upward just a smidge higher was any indication.

“No, you would not recognize me as I am. However, in name you might,” the traditionally dressed man admitted. “Your sword style is a descendent of the kendo school I started in my later years, and we are very distantly related, that we are.”

Yamamoto blinked, and then stared at the man, followed by a bit more blinking before his eyes widened and he leaned forward, his hands flattening out to hold him upright above the ground. “ _Eh_? Wait, so you’re—”

“Asari Ugetsu, that I am,” the man beamed at Yamamoto, pleased that the younger man apparently was aware of their shared history.

“I have been watching you closely, little swallow. Both out of my own personal interest, but also because events, particularly the order of your birth, have interfered with this world’s natural course of progression.”

Yamamoto gave his ancestor a faintly lost and confused look as the excitement over sitting before the fabled swordsman of their family ebbed away, leaving only concern in it’s wake. “What do you mean? Like, I shouldn’t have been born?”

“No!” Asari quickly gasped out, looking horrified by the implication. He cleared his throat, and his expression calmed. “No,” he repeated, tone soft and gentle unlike before, “Nothing of the sort, little swallow. In all of the realities I have seen through the eyes of your counterparts, you always are meant to exist. The Old One has warned me of this, that to remove you from this world would mean a great many things would not come to pass as they should.”

“I don’t think I understand, Asari-san,” Yamamoto admitted, brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by counterparts? And who is The Old One?”

“I forget that you do not know everything that you should,” Asari sighed, before he directed an apologetic smile at his young descendant.

“There are countless other worlds similar to yours, Takeshi-kun,” the spirit started to explain. “You know them as parallel worlds. These worlds differ based on even the smallest of differences that occur, one slight change can cause a ripple effect that alters the entire course of how a war is fought, who wins and who dies, you see.”

“Saa…that’s kinda complicated, isn’t it?” Yamamoto mused, not afraid to admit that the topic of alternate realities had always made his head hurt when he really tried to think long and hard on the implications of such a thing.

“It can be,” Asari smiled apologetically at Yamamoto. “You have always existed in the parallel worlds of this universe, those versions of you are your counterparts, if you will. Even if you do not always take the same path, you end up in the same place you are meant to. Someone has tried to prevent that by attempting to keep you from being born. It took a bit of intervention from The Old One, but you were born five years later than you normally would have been.” Asari paused, falling silent to let Yamamoto absorb the information because it was becoming apparent the younger man was a little stunned by the news.

“The Old One is, as his name implies, one of the ancients that existed at the beginning of time,” Asari added once his younger companion seemed to have gotten over the worst of his shock.

“Like…like a God?” Yamamoto swallowed around his suddenly dry tongue, feeling just a little light headed. Yep, this was definitely the most insane twenty-four hours of his life, that just confirmed it.

He was somehow the focus of his dead ancestor and a god, and Yamamoto really did have to wonder about his luck.

“He is, and he is not,” Asari amended, the smile that twisted his lips apologetic at the confused look Yamamoto next gave him. “Humans have given him the title in the past, but he is not so powerful in that regard. He and his kind existed here on Earth before us. He is, if you will—

a caretaker of sorts. He ensures the balance of the natural world is not upended.”

“Oh,” Yamamoto responded, his voice sounding faint even to his own ears before he forcibly cleared his throat and breathed in deeply like his father had taught him to, when he had the need to center himself. “And…where is it that I’m supposed to end up, exactly?”

“With the man called Sawada Tsunayoshi—with the Vongola.” Asari seriously stated, “which as you are already on your way there, things are progressing as they should. I will not tell you anything more, however, because the path from here on out, is yours to shape. I am already interfering, telling you as much as I have, but it was unfortunately necessary to right the imbalance you have faced so far. Just have faith that you will fall into the role you were always meant to take—To become a blessed shower that settles conflict, and washes everything away.”

“Uh…” Yamamoto found himself lost again, because he had no idea how he could become a shower and he was sure the look he was giving Asari communicated how crazy he thought that idea was. “Wait…like, Rain?” He asked, a nagging suspicion tickling at the back of his mind.

He suddenly remembered Ryohei listing off the different types of flame classifications earlier, and his eyes widened as he considered that maybe, Asari might know what type he was.

“Ah! Am I Rain flamed?” He asked, “Ryohei was telling me about flames, earlier, how you can fight and use them for certain things—”

“Takeshi-kun,” Asari laughed, hands lightly waving through the air for the younger man to pause, “take a deep breath. I will tell you what I can, I promise, that I do. I was already planning to help in this regard, because you are slightly at a disadvantage with the delay to your timeline. I am already interfering by taking advantage of your presence in this sacred site to contact you. Doing a little extra can’t hurt.” 

Asari smiled at the younger man and stood up, to walk over to his young descendant until he was sitting right before him, their knees nearly touching. “You are a rain user, that you are.” He confirmed. “I will help you to channel your flames and give you an outlet of sorts, if you will, to draw from until my old mantle is passed to you.”

“…Mantle?” Yamamoto repeated the antiquated word, finding it impossible not to smile back at Asari. He liked him already from the short time he’d known him, and he was pretty sure that had the other man been alive, they would have easily become friends. “Like…a position, you mean?”

“Yes, one given to me by my dearest friend.” There was something soft and wistful in Asari’s voice, and the smile tugging at the other man’s mouth turned almost sad. It made something inside of Yamamoto’s chest tighten and he wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he reached out and took one of Asari’s incorporeal hands into his own to squeeze it gently.

“I’ll do my best, Asari-san,” he earnestly insisted and gave the man a reassuring smile, wanting the sadness to leave Asari’s expression for some inexplicable reason. “So that you and your friend can rest easy.”

“Of that,” Asari chuckled, his gaze once again turning calm and warm as the surprise of the younger man’s gesture faded from his eyes, “I have no doubt, Takeshi-kun.”

He gently squeezed Yamamoto’s hand back in return before carefully releasing the boy’s long fingers.

“Our time here is almost at an end, so I will hurry to encourage your flames forth.” Asari quietly explained. “Please relax, and do not fight the sensation, trust that the power will not hurt you, but protect you as it is a part of yourself. Do you understand?”

“Okay, Asari-san,” Yamamoto nodded, settling his hands over his thighs as he waited for the man to do what he needed to achieve such a thing, completely content to allow Asari to guide him through this.

“Relax,” Asari repeated, reaching up to lightly touch the palm of his hand gently to Yamamoto’s forehead. “Close your eyes. Let the feeling flow through you as it comes. I will help coax your flames forward, you must merely be willing to accept them,” he quietly murmured, and waited until the younger man’s eyes had slid shut before he dared to actually begin the complicated process of awakening his descendent’s flames.

They were strong, but pressed deep down, untapped and brimming with a thirst to be released. The issue of flame attraction wasn’t a concern in this instance, and so Asari felt only the briefest stirrings of testing and grasping at his own energy as Yamamoto’s flames started to stir, the boy’s essence trying to distinguish just what sort of presence it had come into contact with and if it were hostile or not.

“Just like this, yes,” Asari murmured, “do not fight it, let it out. Breath in deep and on your next exhale…let the tension slide from your body, give in to the feeling you are experiencing.”

Yamamoto took a deep, if not shaky breath and on his exhale, forced the tightness from his shoulders, from his hands, his legs. For a moment, he felt weightless, as if he were floating on a warm cloud, every nerve in his body singing with a type of alignment, of being whole, that he had never experienced before. It felt like a trickle at first, the stirrings of the energy Asari was unearthing within him, and then it became a steady stream until all at once, it felt like a dam had just been busted open within him, the barriers holding his energy back dissipating into nothingness.

His eyes snapped open as the warmth of his flames rushed through his entire body and he gasped, stunned to find his hands glowing the faintest blue, not unlike the ethereal glow that surrounded Asari. “It feels—”

“Like you are finally whole,” Asari smiled, slowly lowering his hand from the young man’s forehead, his efforts having been successful.

He still remembered the first time he had fully accessed his flames, and there had been nothing, until G had entered his life, that had made him feel so free or at peace with himself as coming into alignment with his flame element for the very first time. He envied Yamamoto for a brief moment, but like a passing breeze, the emotion was quickly gone, replaced by pride for his descendent’s ability to reach this stage so easily.

“Yes,” Yamamoto laughed, amazement and glee clear in his eyes as he stared down at his glowing hands, though he wondered at the actual lack of flames. Ryohei had easily been able to summon them, and yet, Yamamoto had not.

“You must still cultivate control to better form and direct your flame energy, Takeshi-kun,” Asari intoned, as if he had been reading the young swordsman’s thoughts. “That is why I am giving you this,” he reached into the large, billowing sleeves of his robe to pull out a string of clearly weathered and well-loved wooden prayer beads, the length of which he looped over on itself to shorten it and create a bracelet of sorts which he gently proceeded to roll over Yamamoto’s raised right hand.

The young man watched in amazement as the beads’ incorporeal state hardened, losing the blue glow until all that remained was a simple string of sandalwood beads. “They…they smell like a freshly cut tree,” he murmured, gaze curious and wondering as he reached up with his other hand to gently finger the beads and paused when he noticed something strange. A distinct blue and orange pair of beads made up the end of the string, buttressed up against one another between the knots that held the length of beads together. Both were made of some sort of stone, or possibly glass, and Yamamoto was struck by the stark colors on the otherwise humble string of prayer beads.

“For it’s age, it is deceiving. But most items with flame imbued constructs hold many secrets.” Asari admitted with a light laugh, studying his young charge fondly, having noticed the focus Yamamoto was giving to the two irregular beads. “It was old even before I received it. This was given to me by friend, Giotto, many years ago to help me channel my flames when my usual vessel to do so was no longer available for me to make use of. It will protect you, in more ways than preventing you from experiencing flame backlash, so you must never take it off, do you understand, little swallow?”

Yamamoto couldn’t help but think about Shigure Kintoki and the strange illusion that laid over it and he nodded, fingers immediately moving to press to his forgotten blade as if in apology for his lapse in attention. For a brief moment, he thought he felt something brush against him, a pressure tingling against his fingers and he quickly glanced down at the sword, but found nothing there out of the ordinary, much to his confusion.

He did notice, however, that the blue glow on his hands had disappeared. Alarmed, he flipped his hands back and over again, as if it might show where they had gone to. “Ah, the blue—it’s gone?”

“The beads are doing their job,” Asari nodded to the now bracelet Yamamoto wore, “until you wish to actively call on them, your flames will not arise, and this will keep you from over-extending yourself. At the moment your control is not what it should be, that it is not. It will take some time.”

“Ah!” Yamamoto suddenly remembered he was supposed to have been back at the plane within half an hour and he scrambled to his feet. “The time—Ryohei said to be back in half an hour and—”

“Time has passed slower here than in your plane,” Asari blinked up at his descendant before he released a fond laugh and with much more grace than the younger man, rose to his feet. “So please do not panic, Takeshi-kun. It is time for you to return, in any case. It would not be wise to maintain the connection much longer. I would ask that unless you feel it necessary to explain our meeting here, you not speak of this for the time being.”

“I…” Yamamoto suddenly found himself at a loss for words with the realization this meant their time together was at an end. He had so many questions, things he wanted to talk to Asari about, he was realizing.

Asari gave him a patient, kind look and smiled comfortingly at his young charge. “We will meet again, Takeshi-kun, I will be here to guide you, as will your new friends.”

With the reassurance, Yamamoto found a smile taking root on his own mouth and he nodded, though he hesitated in making for the door. “Ah, Asari-san…do you know, in the other worlds—is my father…safe?”

At the question, Asari faltered, confusion and surprise alighting his features before he paused and peered intently at his young descendent.

“What has occurred in other realities does not have full bearing on what will happen in this one, little swallow,” he gently reassured. It was the only hope he could give him, because even he did not know what would come to pass in the boy’s current timeline.

“Trust in your father and in yourself,” he suggested, reaching out to lightly lay a hand over Yamamoto’s nearest shoulder.

The words seemed to have the effect he was hoping for, because the boy straightened up a little bit, losing the hesitancy that had darkened his expression and replacing it with a much more natural smile.

“Yeah, you’re right, Asari-san. Dad’s strong, I need to trust in that.”

Asari nodded, smiling back at the boy before he started to lead his charge to the doorway that would take him back to his proper plane. “That you must. Until we meet again, please take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, for everything Asari-san. I’ll do my best!” Yamamoto paused at the doorway just long enough to bow to the older man before he rose up, and with a grin, slipped through the passageway.

His departure was just as jarring as his arrival, the warmth of the plane he had been in with Asari immediately replaced by the familiar Himalayan chill and he shivered a bit as he eyed the wooden steps thoughtfully for a few seconds before proceeding down them, almost expecting them to vanish just like Asari.

There was no blue bonfire in the iron torch stands that flanked the stairs as he descended the steps, and that for certain told him that Asari’s spirit of will was no longer around. The strange wall his ancestor had erected to block his retreat was gone, too, just as the man had promised would happen when their talk was complete. With nothing to bar his path any longer and growing colder by the minute, Yamamoto immediately made his way back to the main street he’d first come from.

It was strange, but talking with Asari had helped ease some of the confusion and worry he’d felt at the sudden turn his life had taken just a short while before.

There were certainly more questions that had arisen from their meeting to add to his already long list, but in all, it helped Yamamoto to know that this was the path he was supposed to be on. He felt like it was going to be okay, despite everything that had happened, because he was apparently fated to end up in Italy. Asari had made it sound like Sawada Tsunayoshi and the Vongola were always meant to be in his life, even though he didn’t yet understand where joining their world would fully lead him, there was weirdly a strange comfort in that.

He made it back to the plane quickly, and was relieved to find that he hadn’t been gone as long as he’d feared, just as Asari had promised.

Mounting the steps, Yamamoto made his way back towards his seat and caught Ryohei’s gaze as the man looked up from the file in front of him to direct a smile at Yamamoto. “You have good timing, Yamamoto. Almost thirty minutes exactly. Have fun exploring?”

Yamamoto couldn’t tamp down his amusement at the question, or the laugh that escaped him as he retook his seat, lowering his sword down into the empty one beside his own. That question was unbelievably amusing, considering what he’d just been through. “Ah, yeah. It was pretty interesting, Senpai.”

“Good, good.” Ryohei bobbed his head in satisfaction at his answer. “Colonello just finished up refueling us, so we’ll be getting out of here, shortly. Tsuna has a bit of backlogged work he’s trying to finish, but he’s going to want to meet you when we get in.”

With Asari’s conversation still fresh in his mind, Yamamoto didn’t find the smile that rose to his mouth hard to muster in the slightest. “Ah, that’s good. I’d like to meet him too, finally.” He genuinely wanted to meet Sawada Tsunayoshi, to put a face to the name and maybe learn for himself just what would make this stranger so important to him, and his parallel lives that he would always end up at his side.

Colonello entered the plane from the door Yamamoto had just come in through moments before and glanced in their direction before turning around to secure the door. “We’re going to be taking off shortly, kora!” He warned Yamamoto and Ryohei with a sharp, pointed stare. “Buckle up and whatever you do, no more flame theatrics back here, got it?”

“Maa, maa, it’s okay Colonello-san,” Yamamoto reassured with a disarming smile that he directed back in their pilot’s direction. “Senpai already showed me once. I’m tired anyway, so I’m just going to sleep some more.”

Colonello stared at them both a moment longer before he rolled his eyes and turned on his heel to head for the cockpit. “Fine, but if your jet lag gets the best of you, that’s on you.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Yamamoto blinked at the strange response and Ryohei shook his head, expression amused.

“He’s just ready to get home, we both are.” Ryohei admitted, closing the file in front of him to lean back in his seat. “Don’t worry about the jet lag, by the way. It’ll take a couple of days, but you’ll get over it.”

“Mm, I’m not too worried about it,” Yamamoto admitted before yawning as he took a leaf out of Ryohei’s book and leaned back a bit more in his own seat, making himself comfortable.

“Well, we’ll be there in a few more hours. You might as well sleep. I’m going to, definitely.” Ryohei sighed.

Yamamoto shifted in his seat to glance over at the other man, thoughtfully. “Ne, senpai—you said you were going to check on Basil and Lancia, right? Are they okay?”

Ryohei blinked at the question and turned his head towards Yamamoto, before a tiny smile rose to his mouth. “Ah, yeah. They’re okay, Yamamoto. Basil and Lancia weren’t on their own too much longer after we left before they got some back up and the Gesso guys split pretty quickly after that, apparently. The cowards.” Ryohei’s smile quickly turned to a scowl, apparently not too impressed by the fact.

Something in Yamamoto relaxed at that and he smiled, relieved to know Basil and the other man, Lancia, were okay. “That’s good,” he sighed, shifting back into his previous position with the news. “Wake me up if I’m still sleeping when we get there, okay, senpai?”

“Yeah, you got it Yamamoto.” Ryohei agreed, the two of them settling into the sound of the engine of the plane coming back online, followed shortly by the plane’s other vital systems.

The feeling of the plane taking off a few minutes later didn’t feel as jarring to Yamamoto as it hard the first time, he realized. It didn’t take long after they’d made it to cruising altitude before Yamamoto found himself drifting off into a light sleep, already missing the warm illusion of Asari’s old house and the strange peace he’d felt in his ancestor’s presence. Italy awaited, and with it, his future. That should have been daunting, and yet, with the warm pressure of Asari’s prayer beads wrapped around his wrist in their gentle hold, Yamamoto somehow knew it would be alright.


End file.
